Vox 1947 December

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SWEET CAPORAL CIGARETTES
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L vox
The undergraduate literary journal of United College
VOL. XX-No.3 WINNIPEG, MAN. DECEMBER ISSUE
Honorary Editor DR. D. E. PETERsoN
Editor-in-Chief J. C. BoRLAND
Assistant Editors PEGGY LAURENCE M. COHEN Advertising Manager CECIL BRESLAUER
CONTENTS
PAGE
EDITORIAL 2
THE ELEVENTH MAN D. L. Bennett.............................................. 3
SUNDAY NIGHT Josh Craig ,........................................ 9
VALEDICTORY ADDRESS Heath MacQuarrie 13
GRADUATE PHOTOGRAPHS ...................•......................................................................... 16
SELLER'S MARKET Edward J. Finch........................................ 23
ON LOSING THINGS : Edward J. Finch........................................ 27
DAWN ON THE TRA'IN Edward J. Finch........................................ 31
POEM Walter G. Frieson...................................... 32
GARDENIAS Ted Johns 32
THE WRECK .M. Wish 33
WHEN VANZETTI SPOKE L. H. K. L. H. K :.................. 35
EDITORIAL
When we consider the development of
events during the present post-war period
and compare them with those of the first
post-war world, it becomes increasingly
apparent that we owe a great debt to such
indispensable elements in our Canadian so­ciety
as the Canadian Manufacturers Asso­ciation,
the Canadian National Publishers
Association, and (lately) the movies and
the radio. Perhaps no nation in history has
ever been so fortunate as to, have such a
powerful body of men who have been de­voted
with such unanimity of purpose to
the Gargantuan task of extolling the su­preme
virtues of our democratic way of
life, rugged individualism and free enter­prise.
Perhaps the excessive flurry of energy
on the part of these guardians of the com­mon
weal, when correlated with the issues
of the age which stimulate it, would seem
to indicate that there is always a remark­able
period of unrest and agitation for sev­eral
years following a period of war. From
the general accounts of this disturbing
phenomenon which appear in the news­papers
and in our magazines (written by
unquestionable authorities on the subject),
we may be sure that these periods of na­tional
crisis would never occur were it
not 'for the presence of despicable foreign
agents, communists, anarchists, and other
criminal groups who disseminate their poi­sonous
doctrines amongst the untutored
working classes, inciting them to rebel
against their happy state of order and har­mony.
Who knows what disastrous effects
might be realized in our present society
were it not for the presence of other more
idealistic groups whose titanic endeavors
are devoted to the task of exposing the
flaws of revolutionary doctrines, and paint­ing
with unexcelled eloquence the glories
of our own ordered system.
Due to the unremitting efforts of good,
solid citizens, good reporters, good jour­nalists,
we know where to place the blame
2
for the wave of strikes which are tieing up
industry. Although the strikers may think
that they are perfectly legitimate in their
demands for higher wages and better
hours, they do not realize that they are the
unwitting agents of the Reds, who are
using them to carry out a Secret Plan.
This Secret Plan is really quite simple. The
economic welfare of our society depends
wholly upon good sound business. If in­dustry
were to be thrown into chaos by
striking workers, there would be no good
sound business; if we had no good business,
we would have no economic welfare, and if
we had no economic welfare, we would
have no good sound business. Things
would be in a terrible mess, which is just
what the Reds want!
The responsibility for detecting and at­tacking
any evidences of this Secret Plan
has rested with the press and the movies
and the radio long enough. As citizens of
democracy we must be prepared to assume
our share of the responsibility also. But
we must be very careful to ascertain just
What is and what is not part of the Secret
Plan, as our good solid citizens, our jour­nalists
and reporters have been so careful
to do.
As can be seen from the plan, the crux
of the whole situation liesin good business:
anything which may be said to constitute
even the most remote danger to good sound
business, has at its core a philosophy which
is alien to our way of life. We are there­fore
safe in condemning any group which
in any way whatsoever represents a threat
to good sound business.
It is -for this reason that the Canadian
Women's Housewives Association has been
justifiably condemned as communist-in­spired,
for the strongest plank in their
platform is their determination to fetter
the feet of good sound business by the
re-imposition of price-controls. Again, the
boycott of the seven-cent candy bar by the
(Continued on page 15)
THE ELEVENTH MAN
t'J D. L. BENNETT
HE awoke, sweating. Lord, but it was
hot! He lay still, trying to recall ...
something ... yes! That damned dream
again! Why did that train have to go
through so early in the morning? Every
time it crossed the bridge he could hear
the rhythmical clackity-click, clackity­click
augmented by the sounding board
of the river, and he always dreamed he
was on his way home in a sleeper, being
pulled across the Canadian prairie, only to
wake and lie sweating in his charpoy,
dozing fretfully until the clatter and babble
of the cooks preparing breakfast marked
the beginning of another day. But this
time, as he tried to compose his mind for
sleep-he kept telling himself that it had
happened so often that it shouldn't bother
him any more--a slight stir of the soggy
air carried with it the mocking wail of the
locomotive, a couple of miles down the
line toward Calcutta. He flopped over,
cursed, but after a moment rolled onto
his back and lay looking at the mosquito
net over him, listening to the heavy breath­ing
of his hut-mate.
Mike had been pretty drunk last night,
and he might as well sleep in this morning
hi. case they had to fly tonight. Mike was
a good guy, a good pilot, and good with
the crew. He thought back over yester­day
and reassured himself that Mike had
told him everything was O.K. with the air­craft,
and that the crew had got over their
bind about their quarters. He wished he'd
had time to talk to the crew himself, and
to check up on the kite, but he'd had such
a hell of a time trying to wangle that
equipment from the stores depot in Cal­cutta
that he'd been away all day yester­day.
Anyway, Mike was all right, and
he'd just go out and do a run-up and have
a dekko 'round the kite this morning be­fore
it got too hot. He hoped they'd get
a trip tonight-ops seemed to have for-gotten
that this unit existed lately-but
what the hell!-he was getting paid, work
or no work. He thought again of Mike.
Mike wanted to get his hours in as second
dickey so he could go back to England
for his own crew-maybe even back to
Canada. He wondered why Mike had got
so drunk last night. It wasn't like him.
Probably a letter from his wife-that
seemed to bother some of the boys more
than others. Thank God he had nothing
like that to worry him! He thought for
a brief moment of that letter he'd received
back in the U.K.-he'd heard she was
engaged to some lawyer now. Well, that
was all 'right, The guy had a future, any­way.
He thought idly of University, and
what it would be like, going back among
a gang of youngsters . . .
A mosquito's buzzing intruded itself on
his consciousness, and he turned his head
to watch it, silhouetted against the yellow
light beginning to show itself through the.
window. He reached up and brushed his
fingers along the net where the creature
was trying to find an opening. The buzzing
took on an angry tone, and the mosquito
redoubled it efforts, butting futilely against
the netting. He cursed it, but without
animosity, and considered taking a shower
-it was so stinking hot already. That
was one nice thing about this place-­showers.
The poor guys up in the forward
areas would probably think this a mild sort
of paradise, even with that unbelievably
filthy Hooghly river clogging the air with
its muggy smells. Mter a few moments
he decided he would take a shower,' there
weren't very many mosquitos around yet,
and he was wide awake now anyway.
He padded carefully across the com­pound
toward the shower hut. It was quite
light, now, and he could hear sounds of
activity in the Mess kitchen. Maybe he
could get a cup of tea after his shower,
3
The aircraft loomed ghost-like out of the
darkness. She was swinging ever so gently
with the current, and a faint sloshing echo­ed
from her hull as the river nudged her
with little wavelets. He stood up in the
dinghy and looked hard down the river,
his eyes probing the blackness between the
pinpricks of light that marked the flare­path.
A languid breeze whispered along
the water, and he took off his cap and let it
ruffle his hair. He was trying to hold
down the excitement building up in him,
for the crew did not know yet where they
were going and he wanted to be able to
tell them without building them up too
much. He felt good all over about what
he had heard today. The 'phone call had
sent Hank and Freddieout to find a crew
swimming eleven hundred miles away,
while he had spent the day resting, ready
for tonight. Then, hours later, had come
for the teapot. Bill looked ruminatively'
pleased about something, and the shadow
of a smile crossed his lips as he raised his
cup. He looked quickly around and saw
that the bearers were out of the room and
then, with a satisfied chuckle, he unburden­ed
himself:
"Jeez, fellows, I had the chance of a
lifetime this morning. I woke up before
the bearer came in and found two of those
dam' cows asleep on the floor in my hut.
I put on a pair of heavy boots and kicked
them out of there so hard I ..."
Laughter rocked through the Mess,
drowning the rest of the story; someone
choked on his tea, and Hawkeye's good
Aussie twang broke through with, "One
good laugh a day is all we need, I always
say!"
All at once he knew today was going
to be a good day, and was almost not sur­prised
at all when the 'phone rang with
that peculiar tone of urgency that never
failed to blanket the Mess with an expect­ant
silence. The controller, nearest the
'phone, stood up carefully and walked to­ward
it with an exaggerated air of non­chalance
while the Mess held its breath.
if Abdul was around. A cow ambled across
in front of him, and he resisted a mild im­pulse
to throw something at it; some of
the Hindu cooks might see him, and then
he might not be able to get his tea. He
stood quietly under the shower, letting the
water play over his body. It was warm,
but it felt pleasant, and he tilted his
head back and let the spray strike him
full in the face. It was like a gentle mas­sage,
and he felt much better as the sluicing
water induced energy into his lax muscles.
He rubbed himself down, wrapped the
towel around his middle, and stepped back
across the compound. Mike was still sunk
in sleep, so he slipped quickly into his
clothes and strode over to the Mess. He
spoke to Abdul, and sat down with one of
yesterday's papers. The news was all
about Europe and the South Pacific. Some­body
had said the war would be over this
year, and somebody else said it would last
at least three more years. He thought
about it for a moment and turned to the
crossword puzzle. Abdul brought in his
tea, and he worked on the crossword until
breakfast. The Statesman always had a
good crossword; you couldn't solve it in a
hurry and then have to think of something
else to do.
Nobody spoke much coming in to break­fast.
Nearly everyone was wondering
why he had bothered to get up. There
wasn't anything to do, but meals marked
the passage of time, and everyone but Mike
came in. Hank and Freddie sat at oppo­site
ends of the table, not looking at each
other. Hank had trumped Freddie's ace a
couple of evenings ago, and now they
weren't speaking. He hoped they'd get a
trip soon, maybe even before himself­captain
and navigator had to talk to one
another when they flew, and maybe that
would break the ice. He thought vaguely
about some joke he'd read about a husband
and wife who had quarrelled over bridge.
It seemed so silly, back home, but now he'd
seen it happen. Well, better let them work
it out for themselves.
Bill came in and sat down beside him,
mumbling "Morning, Skip," as he reached
4
* * *
The aircraft fitted itself around him as
he coaxed her into line with the flare­path
and completed his take-off check.
The green light came from the control
launch and he settled into his seat, feet
firm on the pedals, wheel tucked right back
into his chest. The motors engulfed him in
the message from Hank-he'd been in the
Ops-room when it came through, and he
could still hear the exultant rhythm of
the code as it boomed through the speaker
-ten men .pieked up alive, but one still
missing and Hank hadn't enough gas left
to stay to look for him. (He'd bet Hank
and Freddie were speaking now!) So now
he was heading for the eleventh man-and
he was so sure, so very sure, that he would
find that man and, so doing, justify to him­self
his own existence. He felt a momen­tary
twinge of guilt, reflecting that he flew
only when some poor devil was swimming
for his life in a shark-infested sea, and
that he had still wanted to fly: what did
that make him? . " But that was a puzzle,
and he had no time for such things now,
for the dinghy was lying alongside the
port blister, and Hawkeye had already
scrambled aboard, hauling his bag of
navigator's tricks after him.
The crew huddled over the chart table,
and he could see their eyes gleam as they
looked at the track lines-they had known
this was no milk-run, but this! ... As they
listened to his briefing, their wide grins
seemed to fill the aircraft, then they grew
seriously intent as they listened to his final
admonition.
"A Mozzie shot up their nearest fighter
strip this afternoon, so we shouldn't need
to worry about enemy kites. There's be a
Lib down there searching too-but remem­ber,
we'll have only an hour and a half
safe limit in the search area, so get some
rest on the way down and be right on your
toes when we get there. If Met's winds
are right we'll be there just at sunrise,
so we'll have breakfast half an hour before
that and be ready to pick this guy up when
he thumbs us!"
* * *
their shattering thunder, and the nose lift­ed
slowly as the prop blast spurned the
water. She bucked a little coming onto
the step, but he had expected that, and
thrilled to the taming of her as she settled
skittishly into the groove and blasted her
way down the flare-path. He became a
part of the aircraft as life came quivering
into the controls. . . a nudge on the wheel,
and he joyed in her eager surge into the
silky air. The airspeed needle teased its
way up to climbing speed, and soon she
was at cruising altitude and he throttled
the motorsback to a steady thrumm, turn­ed
back over the flare-path, and settled
on course.
He was surprised to find himself sweat- .
ing, and that his arms and legs were aching.
He slid back the top hatch to let the
cool rarefied air curl through the cockpit.
Everything was behaving nicely, so he
plugged "George" in and turned her over
to Mike while he leaned back, lit a cigar­ette,
and gazed at the stars through the
open hatch. The stars always seemed big­ger
and brighter up here, and there were
more of them-perhaps because they were
flying near the top of the layer of dust
haze which always overlay [ndia and
stretched miles out to sea. Tonight would
be a good night for Astro, and Hawkeye
would be dead-on in his landfall. He listen­ed
to the conversation of the crew over
the intercom. They knew they weren't
supposed to natter like that, but they were
discussing what they would feed the
eleventh man when they picked him up,
and he said nothing. He could feel the
excitement rising in him again, so he look­ed
searchingly at the instrument panel,
checked with Joe in the flight-engineer's
seat, and went aft to talk to Hawkeye and
to try to persuade the boys to rest. He
knew he wouldn't be able to sleep on the
way out, but maybe he'd get a bit of rest
on the way home.
Hawkeye was intent over his charts;
Bill and Alan were doing something to the
radio. They all looked up and grinned as
he stooped through the' bulkhead door.
His eyes were dazzled for a moment by the
5
bright lights over the chart table, and he
fumbled his way through to the engineer's
compartment, where the boys were ready­ing
the guns for mounting. Pat offered
him a cup of tea, and he sat down on a
bunk and chatted over tea and cigarettes.
Nobody looked in the mood for sleep, but
he told them again to rest, and went for­ward
to look over the charts. Hawkeye
was plotting an Astro fix, so he sat back
and watched the cocked-hat forming dead
on the track line. He exchanged grins
with Hawkeye and moved forward to the
cockpit, just in time to see a full moon
ooze into the sky over Burma through a
startling red haze. Soon he could see the
moon path on the water. The surface was
oily calm, and it was pretty certain that
it would be as smooth down where the
eleventh man was waiting for them. He
toyed with the idea of tearing a strip off
the guy for thumbing rides-like that
cocky little officer had done to him, back in
training command . . . seemed such a long
time ago . . . twenty-five thousand bucks
it cost to train one pilot, and after all this
time he hadn't turned in any profit on that
investment. But this guy's life was prob­ably
worth more than that to someone. He
wondered if he was married. He'd like to
see the guy's wife when she heard the good
news ...
The intercom broke through with Joe's
voice giving him the last reading on fuel
supply and consumption rate. He sent Mike
back for some sleep, and settled down to
the business of watching the panel.
* * *
They were down to one hundred feet
now, running in toward the small cluster
of islands just off the enemy coast which
marked the search area. They weren't sure
if there was enemy radar down here, but
there was no sense taking chances, and
he could see the water clearly enough in
the moonlight filtered through the gauzy
layer of cloud a few hundred feet above
them. In a way, it would have been nice
if that cloud had been thicker, in case the)
had to use it, but those Mozzie boys always
did a good job when they shot up a strip.
6
Gradually he became aware of the faint
grey of first-light, then a pinkish glow
spread out along the horizon in front of
him. He caught his breath in awe as the
sun flung its crimson net over the Siamese
hills ahead, and the underside of the cloud
caught the splash of color and deflected
it deep into the waters beneath. And there
-yes, that was it-that island heaving up
out of the sea-good old Hawkeye, right
on the nose!
The bow gunner turned around, grinning
happily behind a thumbs-up sign, then
turned forward and began scanning the
surface. The island slipped past the port
wingtip, and there, between them and the
beach marking the mainland three miles
away, lay the strip of water that had en­gulfed
a flaming aircraft yesterday. The
surface was oyster-slick-only a slight
swell-it would be a piece of cake to get
down when they spotted the little dot that
would mark the eleventh man . . . "Port
blister to skipper, Lib running in on the
port bow, high." Good for Pat-s-old eagle­eye-
he'll likely be the first one to spot
our man, too . . . his eyes darted quickly
over the water-it was so smooth, he might
spot that dot right away, without having
to fly the search pattern ... Well, maybe
that was too much to expect . . . Into the
pattern, down to fifty feet ... Nothing
this run-he must be closer to the shore­wind
is onshore, swell is running straight
in-he could have been carried ashore, it's
only a couple of miles ... But stick to the
pattern! No use flapping over this ...
Another run-nothing. Two pairs of eyes
jammed in the bow turret now-my next
whiskey ration to whoever spots him first!
Down the long leg . . . across the short
leg and back . . . and down ... no shark
fins here yet, anyway ... but nothing else
either-and forty-five minutes gone-e-only
half the time left. An hour gone-and
nothing . . . Joe, can we stick it past the
hour and a half? . . . We might do half an
hour more, Skip, but we'll use a lot of gas
taking off again if we find him. If we find
him . . . dammit, he's got to be here.
Where's that Lib? ... There! Was that a
flare?-was it? ... No, he's not circling
. . . God!-he must be here-one more
run to go on the pattern ... please God!
... Nothing. He must have made it ashore
-we're going to run along the shore-keep
the guns ready ... Beach-jungle-Lib's
over shore now too . . . We'll stay another
half hour ... There!-there he is! ... No
-a native-didn't even look at us-my
God, you'd think ... Wonder if they're
friendly-maybe they've got him-but
wouldn't they signal us? ... No-t-might be
Jap spies around-if they've got him they'll
help him into the hills . . . But couldn't
they please let us know somehow? ...
Huts-a village ... Boats-ea fishing vil­lage!
They must have him-right down
on the deck-and not one of them looked
at us-what in hell goes on here? ; .. Back
again-please signal. . . looks like a brown
flying jacket! ... No, just a dead palm
leaf. And they still didn't look at us . . .
Well, we can't risk landing to ask them
.' .. Hawkeye, we'll stop at Akyab on the
way back-have to make it by sundown,
no flare-path there-or anything else-but
it'll give us another half hour-right? ...
O.K.-he can't be ashore here-must be on
an island-but one more run down the
beach first ... Lib's gone? O.K., we'll
look at the islands . . . he must be on an
island-must be . . . no, not that one . . .
one of the bigger ones maybe . . . nothing
there ... Look, chum, why don't you wave
at us or something? ... We know you're
here somewhere-you can't hide out on
us ... Not this one either-are you having
fun, boy? Think this is hide-and-seek,
do you? I'll give you a blast-No! that
won't help! ... Please, fella ... ten min­utes
to go-another tiny one-beach-little
stream-good spot if he made it ... No.
another blank-time for one more-he
couldn't be on any of the others, anyway
-wind's, the wrong way-four more min­utes-
once more around ...
Let's have the course for Akyab, Hawk­eye
... Roger ... Take 'er, please, Mike.
Oh, hell . . . he must be ashore . . .
Natives are mostly friendly down this
way-I think ... Yeah, they thought he
was wounded and burned a bit . . . but
the sea was so smooth . . . Of course,
maybe his life-belt burned, but they heard
him calling after they all hit the water .
Lord, it's hot! Mouth tastes like .
Tea? Thanks, Pat .
Hawkeye, do you know an eight-letter
word beginning with "p," meaning a kind
of rock?
CONTEST WINNERS
The winners of the contest announced in the spring issue of Vox are:
1. Short Story, "The Eleventh Man," by D. L. Bennett.
2. Poem, "Bread Hath He," by J. M. Wemyss.
3. Essay, "Politics, Morals, and the Intellectual," by H. Mitchell.
7
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Phones 96 488 - 9 .
SUNDAY NIGHT
b'1 JOSH CRAIG
AT the corner of 31st Street and Maple
Avenue, just at the edge of the east
end business district, a small group of
uniformed musicians were huddled to­gether
under a street light, bravely play­ing
hymns into the lonesome night air.
It was bitter cold. Heavy snow had fallen
late in the afternoon and now an icy wind
was whipping clouds of it through the nar­row
canyons between the office buildings
and department stores that lined the street.
Pedestrians, this Sunday night, were
few, and those that did pass hurried with
heads down against the wind and driving
snow. Only the occasional one was suffi­ciently
interested to sacrifice the shelter
of a coat collar for a glance at the musi­cians,
and. certainly none stopped to listen,
but the little band played defiantly on,
their music sounding lonesome and a little
sad against the weird symphony of the
winter wind..
* * *
In a dark doorway, on a side street a
block west of the musicians' stand, Detec­tive
William O'Brien could just hear the
music without ever being quite able to
recognize the tune.
He had been there since just before dark,
watching the doorway of a down-at-the­heels
rooming house across the street,
while the intense cold slowly seeped
through his heavy clothes. He wanted a
cigarette desperately, but was afraid to
take a chance on one - you never knew
when the Lieutenant would drive by to
check up. O'Brien was afraid of the Lieu­tenant,
and standing there in the dismal
doorway with the cold eating into his
body he hated the Lieutenant. It was idi­otic
to make a man stand in the cold on
a night like this - the killer would not
befool enough to call at his room. The
killer might be a fool, but not so big a
fool as the Lieutenant. O'Brien cursed his
superior, cursed him for this assignment,
tor all the other assignments that had
kept him away from home at night. He
wondered if Ethel was entertaining her
boy friend this night, if the ash trays in
the apartment would hold the stubs of his
cigarettes when O'Brien got home in the
morning. O'Brien accepted the fact that
his wife was unfaithful, had accepted it
for a long time. It was a hurt that no
longer bothered him, but it made it easy
for him to hate the Lieutenant and his
job on this cold winter night.
For some strange reason O'Brien thought
of Mary. He had not thought of her in a
long time - had realized somewhere back
through the years that living without her
was eased somewhat by keeping her mem­ory
tucked away in the dark. It has been
an empty eighteen years without Mary, an
eighteen years empty with loneliness that
neither Ethel or her faithlessness could
touch. He wondered what Eddie was doing
this stormy night. Their son -his and
Mary's - was all he had left. O'Brien
sighed, his breath white where the glare
of the street light cut into his hiding place.
He did not like to think too much about
Eddie, nor did he want to let himself re­member
Mary. He pulled his collar higher
about his neck, and went back to hating
the Lieutenant. ..
* *
The half dozen customers in the little
grill on the corner south of 31st and Maple
could only hear the music of the hymn­sters
between records on the music ma-chine.
.
One of the two waitresses, a tall, thin
girl in a faded yellow and blue uniform,
set a tray of dirty dishes on the sill of the
9
short order window and stared quizzically
at the frosted street door. After a moment
she shrugged and turned away.
"Jeez, Joe," she said to the counterman,
"you sure meet all kinds! See that joker
that went out a minute ago? Comes in,
orders an egg-salad and coffee and then
beats it before he even tastes it. Jeez, Joe,
maybe he couldn't even stand the smell of
the stuff... "
* * *
The beautifully dressed young man, hug­ging
the buildings as he walked north to­wards
31st Street wished that he had eaten
the sandwich. He wore no hat and the
heavy snow was beginning to gather on his
long dark hair. The collar of his neat tan
topcoat was up, but he kept his head erect
as if trying to peer through the clouds of
wind-driven snow.
He had not eaten all day. It had taken a
lot- of nerve to go into that restaurant, he
10
told himself, and then that stinkin' cop had
had to stop just outside the window.
Not that he was afraid. Hell, they prob­ably
weren't even looking for him. Any­way
he was safe so long as he had the little
heater in his pocket. The heater was his
insurance. It had sure taken care of old
man Coultas. In a way he wished he hadn't
put the blast on the old fool. But he'd
asked for it -- imagine getting the chop
for a couple of hundred lousy bucks!
The hunger was a gnawing torture in­side
him. But just as soon as he picked up
the wad from his room he'd get out of
town. A quick job some place and he'd
head south for a holiday. Yeah, he'd take
a vacation, that's what! The idea of his
taking it easy under. a warm sun with all
the cops in the country looking for him
pleased him.
It was so easy once you know what a
lot the little equalizer could do. You just
pulled real easy on the trigger and, bam
... bam ... down they went.
He wished he could drop around and tell
the boys about it, but they'd know he was
on the lam. Anyway, he could tell them
about it when he hit town again.
He wondered what his old man would
think. Well, who the hell cared what he
thought!
If he could only get something to eat. ..
* * *
Mrs. Ethel O'Brien straightened the
cushions on the chesterfield and set a bottle
beside the two glasses on the coffee table.
She was .lonesome and she hated waiting.
She hoped George would not be late. Wait­ing
made her nervous and she always be­gan
to worry in case Bill came home early
for some reason. She had never under­stood
her husband and because of that she
was afraid of him. Not, she told herself,
that he suspects anything .:- he was too
phlegmatic, too sure of himself for that.
But you never quite know what went on
in that plodding mind of his.
It was a good thing he wasn't like that
damn son of his - the way he leered at
'=oJ
She was on the point of going to see if the
awning at the front of the store had been
raised when she remembered that Louis
had done it.
She thought it was funny she hadn't wept
more. She had tried, but the tears wouldn't
r: come. Perhaps, she thought, perhaps later
when the time comes to go to bed alone I'll
cry more. If there were only something to
do. In a little while she would.go to .the
funeral place to meet the people who came
to see Nicholas.
But now all she could do was to sit in
her lonely room and think. ..
Detective O'Brien thought he would take
a chance on a cigarette. His man wasn't
going to show up. It had been a foolish
idea in the first place to put a man 'out to
freeze to death on a night like this. Well,
the Lieutenant could go fly a kite. He was
going to have his smoke, anyway.
* * *
* * *
* * *
hert.He was too damn smart, he was. For
some strange reason she shuddered.
Impatiently she switched on the radio ...
O'Brien shuffled his numbed feet and
tried to keep the cold from clouding his
brain. He wished the killer would show
up, wanted very much to get a chance at
the man for the thing he had done the
night before. The picture of the old man
stretched out dead on the floor of his little
shop was crystal clear in O'Brien's mind.
It would be there for the rest of his life.
He could be sure of this already, even
though the picture had been there not quite
twenty-four hours. He would never'forget
the surprised look on the old man's face, or
the dirty slipper that had dropped off as he
fell, or the ragged old brown sweater with
the two round holes where the bullets had
crashed into his old body. What was the
old guy's name? Kolatz? No, something
foreign though. Coultas, that was it. Nick
Coultas. It was not easy for the detective
to be sentimental, but. the sight of the old
man dead there in his wretched little shop
had touched him. He had had so little and
then, cruelly, he had had nothing. O'Brien
hoped that the killer would come back to
his rooming house and walk into the Lieu­tenant's
trap. Not that he held out much
hope, but you never knew....
A few blocks west, where the 31st Street
business section petered out into rows of
grocery stores, secondhand stores, and one­window
clothing shops, in a small upstairs
sitting-room, Mrs. Nicholas Coultas tried ~
to think what she must do.' -!
There must be so many things, but
Nicholas's brother Louis had said he would
look after the arrangements with the
church and the funeral man. Mrs. Green
had lent her a black dress and someone
had 'phoned Sarah, the only one of her
husband's relatives who lived out of town.
It was very quiet in the little room and ...
for the first time she became conscious of ,•.,
the wind whining outside the window.
11
He was groping in his pocket for his
cigarettes when he first saw the figure in
the dim light from the street lamp a hun­dred
feet down the alley. There had been
a half dozen others during O'Brien's long
vigil, but they had all passed by the door­way
across the street. Was there some­thing
furtive about the man's movements?
If the figure turned into the doorway he
would know. There were only two rooms
up there and the owner of the other was
out of the way. That had been arranged.
He held his breath as he waited, then let
it out in a sigh as light showed at the door
across the street,and the figure stood out
dimly against it for a moment before the
door closed.
The detective left his hiding place and
quickly crossed the street. The cold had
done more to his muscles than he had rea­lized
and he was stiff and tight as he
moved.
It was semi-dark, and strangely quiet
as he closed the door. A low power light
bulb burned dimly in a wall bracket to the
left of the stairway that faced him. A
board creaked as he crossed to' the foot of
the stairs.
Looking up he thought he could make
out the figure of the man near the top, the
pale light making him an indistinct blur
against the gloom upstairs.
"All right, up there, get 'em up high.
This is the law!" His voice was shaky and
the words sounded a little silly.
He leaned in against a closet door, press­ing
tight against the wall and trying to get
behind a distorted hall tree, the only piece
of furniture in the hall.
There was no answer.
"Come down or I shoot."
An orange tongue flicked out from the
top of the stairs and something thudded
into the wall near his shoulder.
All right, O'Brien thought, all right wise
guy. Now you're gonna get it. You're gonna
get it good.
He fired three times into the gloom
above him, eyes straining to catch some
tell-tale movement to guide him.
12
You're a brave boy, he thought. You got
old man Coultas because you had a gun
and he didn't. You like to have the odds,
don't you, wise guy? But now I got a rod,
too - this time its all even. Shoot again,
bright boy. Let me know where you are.
O'Brien saw a light switch close by and,
reaching up, plunged the hall into complete
darkness.
He heard a movement on the hall land­ing
.and fired quickly into the dark, his
wrist jumping behind his gun. There was
still no sound, but his own harsh breath­ing,
and for a second, distantly, the music
of the hymnsters from outside.
The silence was an eternity and then
suddenly it ended.
There was a faint moan from above, then
the clatter of a revolver that bounced three
times on the stairs, slid across the floor
and ended with a bang against the front
door.
Then, slowly, ridiculously slowly, the
body rolled and bounced after it, ending
finally in a grotesque heap in the dark­ness
at O'Brien's feet.
He stood unmoving for a long moment,
then switched on the light, and peered
down at the huddled body. Blood, running
down through the dark hair, was making
an ugly crimson patch on the back of the
fawn coat. O'Brien turned the body over
with his foot.
He began to feel a little sick. His gun
dropped from his limp fingers. O'Brien,
very slowly, bent down over the body.
The fawn coat ... the dark hair ...
Gently he lifted the face towards him,
unconsciously pushing a strand of hair
back from the forehead, .
There was something ugly about the
silence there in the hallway, as O'Brien
bent over the boy's body and stroked the
sleek black hair. After a while he began
to sob. He reached for the boy's hand and
tried to pull a plain gold ring from a limp
finger, a signet ring with the letters M. O.
engraved faintly on its surface.
The ring wouldn't come off and he reo.
(Continued on page 29)
VALEDICTORY ADDRESS
b'1 HEATH MACQUARRIE
Mr. Chairman, distinguished guests,
members of the faculty, fellow students,
ladies and gentlemen:
My first word must be one of gratitude
to my class-mates for the privilege
and honor which they have bestowed upon
me. It is a rare privilege for any man to
have the last word these days, and for me
appreciate indeed. And yet it seems unde­to
be chosen valedictorian is something I
served, for most of my class-mates are far
more clever than I, many are more hand­some,
and, I believe, one or two are even
older.
But while I am conscious of the honor,
I am aware of the difficulty of attempting
to be a vox populi for sixty-seven very
different and very interesting people. I
can say, however, that most of my class­mates
have given me suggestions and ad­monitions
and there is an amazing unanim­ity
in these offerings. I am told to make
what remarks I please, provided I sit down
ten minutes after I have arisen. To such
a warning I take careful heed.
On occasions like this it is customary to
allow our thoughts to drift back to the
dawn of our college career, and to speak
of the growth, or at least the change which
has come in the years since.
Much has happened to us since we first
entered the musty halls and stuffy poly­angular
class-rooms of that old building on
Portage Avenue. We came for varied
reasons, none more noble than the usual
freshman have, and certainly we were as'
green and as freshie as any class. And like
others we soon dropped some of our ver­dure
and bent a wee bit in the direction of
the blase and superficial. But we never
got too far in that direction, for always
there were instructors who didn't cater to
swell-headedness. And of course in De­cember
and April, after at least a week's
energetic study, we tackled exams and
never were they such as to inflate our ego.
Time rolled its ceaseless course and we
became Juniors, the traditional, jolly
Juniors, and we were jolly, but also we
felt that there was much we didn't know;
and we wondered how we could have been
so amazingly vain of our vast learning
when freshmen. Now as staid and digni­fied
Seniors, we feel that we have attained
a true perspective. No longer are we so
sure that we have all the answers or that
we are finished products, but we do know
that we have gained much by our brief
sojourn in the realms of the great. Through­out
the years a few in our class insisted
upon . winning scholarships and thus
brought reflected glory to the rest of us,
but in the realm of scholasticism we, as
a class, could not qualify with the descrip­.
tion of Emerson, "The studious class are
their own victims, they are thin and pale,
their feet are cold, their heads are hot, the
night is without sleep and the day is a fear
of interruption-the palor, squalor, hun­ger
and egotism. If you come. near them
and see what conceits they entretain, they
are abstractionists and spend their days
and nights in dreaming some dream."
No, Mr. Emerson, this graduating class
is not of that type and I am sure that
faculty members would bear me out in dis­claiming
the description.
But our class did make a good many
firsts during our sojourn. Once we won
the debating cup, trouncing a certain
loquacious section of the college in the
process, later we even defeated two stal­warts
of the faculty. It seems a long time
ago, but actually we clowned most suc­cessfully
and won a stunt night. Some
13
distinguished literateurs had their works
published in the Manitoban. In the ath­letic
field we were second to none, and it
is recorded for all time that one of our
class was champion in that struggle of give
and take-ping pong.
But I need not go on; our successes and,
alas, our shortcoming, in scholastics and
college activities are well known.
Yet if my tongue could utter the
thoughts that arise in me, I should try to
express our feelings about the things less
evident, but more felt in our four years
here. The way in which we were trans­formed
from a collection of individuals
with different interests ihto a cohesive
friendly group with common interests, yet
certainly with no loss of individuality.
How mere acquaintances ripened into real
friendship (and in some instances much
more than that) and how so very soon that
old sandstone building and life within it
meant so much to us all.
Those years, which seem nowfo have
passed so quickly, were rich and meaning­ful
years, which we shall not soon forget.
They were years o! friendships. A little
pain and little toil, but much laughter. A
literary critic discussing George.Eliot once
said, "Her characters are never the same
at the end of a novel as they were at the
beginning." And so with us, no matter
how we express it, or, if we are so afraid
of being sentimental that we never express
it, life at United has changed us, and given
us something which will remain a part of
us all whatever our tomorrows have in
store.
If we feel warm and grateful for our
years at United we know that much is
owed to others, and very simply and sin­cerely
we wish to say a word of gratitude
and appreciation to a faculty who have
done so much for us. You have been help­ful,
painstaking and patient (and, oh how
patience was needed). You have opened
out new vistas to us and have helped
us in developing a standard of values, yet
have insisted that we think for ourselves.
All this and much more we might say, but
14
what we cherish most is the genuine
friendliness of our relationships through­out
the years.
Nor are we unmindful tonight of those
whose voices we no longer hear in our
lecture rooms. In the departure of several
of our professors we lost able instructors
and real friends. With their successors,
who missed the rare experience of knowing
us as verdant freshmen, we soon establish­ed
those same cordial relations which do
so much to make United College a place
of friendship.
While I could dwell my longer on our
happy past than my alloted ten minutes
would warrant, we tonight, like Janus of
old, must look forward as well as back.
Many valedictorians in the past have wax­ed
eloquent like Polonius, and loftily utter­ed
many noble precepts, adorning them
with "wise saws" and "modern instances."
But I cannot fill the Polonius role; nor
can this class, which has see a world well
nigh destroyed, and many bright ideals.
come crashing to the earth, be content. to.
look to the future through rose-colored
spectacles. '
University students are often consider­ed
as dwellers in a dream world, sheltered
from the storms and trials of real life. Of
no class is this less the case than with that
of '47. Many of our members returned
to the halls of learning after grim struggles
with the awful realities of life, and to those
whose course was not interrupted, the mag­nitude
and significance of world-shaking
events was ever pressing upon every day
and every activity..
Young people who live in a world in
which human relationships and conditions
produce a Munich, Lidice, Hiroshima, a
world which sees race hatreds and pre­judices
increasingly aggravated, surely are
not living in a world of dreamy delusions.
Too often we are accused, as university
students, of being blissfully unaware of
life's real problems and perhaps at times
we do appear to be wrapped up inour. own
campus, but on the other hand, many
students before us have been far less aware
of human problems and far less sensitive
to human ills in the so called real world
than in their college years. Why do so
many drop the ideals to which they have
been inspired by their university, and in
their place bow down before the shrine
of modern realism, practicality (and this
we hesitate to say aloud), expediency?
So far from descrying the impracticality
of a liberal education in a world like
ours, I would assert that we cannot. afford
to be without it, provided we make our
ideals live and translate our better prin­ciples
into meaningful action. And I think
that we, as ordinary young people in a
morally sick world are prepared to do our
part. And we dare not delude ourselves
into thinking we have no part. It is not
so long ago that universities were peopled
by students who, having been made aware
of the flaws and weaknesses of many in­stitutions
and ideals boasted that they were
free from dogma and indoctrination, every­thing
was relative and carefree, indiffer­ence
and cynicism were the order of the
day. We have seen that such attitudes are
highly dangerous. There are moral prob­lems,
and basic issues which require a
positive stand, and without some basic
beliefs we start at no beginning and work
to no conclusion.
Just a few months ago we celebrated
our 75th· anniversary and paused to honor
the founders of Manitoba and Wesley Col­leges,
the bulwark of our splendid univer­sity.
These men builded better than they
knew, their creation filled a great need,
not only filled a need, but stood at the
very vanguard of educational progress in
this western part of our great country.
Now that a new college is to be built
the freshman of today will graduate, we
hope, from a new United. New in its
physical apparatus and equipment, but the
spirit and standards will be of the same .
high quality as when our colleges first
opened their doors to eager youth, three­quarters
of a century ago, and which has
remained in the United tradition to this
day.
And now, as I began, I close with a­special
word to the class of '47. Needless
to say our most heartfelt farewell is for
you.
For four happy years we have faced the
future together, and now we feel that the
hour of parting is all too near. A few
months will see us scattered far and wide
over the country and engaged in a diver­sity
of occupations. But our golden years
here will not be forgotten ,and though
separate we shall be united as Alumni of
our college and as members of the great
class of '47.
If we do meet again, we'll smile indeed.
Jf not, 'tis true, this parting was well made.
EDITORIAL
(Continued from page 2)
school children of Canada shows obvious
subversive potentialities; and, in this case,
it was all the more alarming when we con­sider
the tender age at which the process
of infiltration had begun.
What remains to be done is for the gov­ernment
to pass a law. This law must be
no ordinary law; it must provide for every
possible contingency; no stone must be left
unturned in our effort to root out the com­munist
evil. We must provide against men
complaining about wages, women com­plaining
about prices, and children com­plaining
about candy bars. These things
must be made unconstitutional.
No amount of educational training, no
amount of argument and debate, no amount
of vigilant detection on the part of our
solid citizens will be half so effective
against the Red Menace as the work which
will be accomplished if we 'should pass a
law. Let us hope that there will be a
sufficient number of courageous and patri­otic
M.P.s who will see the matter' in its
true light, and who will hasten to exedite
the action as soon a possible. Then, and
only then, will we feel secure in the belief
that our democracy is truly protected from
the red hand of chaos.
15
Lee, Royden
Rivers, Man.
Ex-navigator, Senior Stick, former
and future teacher. Calm, assured,
self-possessed, with a quiet friendly
manner. Diplomatic and capable in
council. Unexpected sense of humour
beneath ministerial disguise. "The
Aristocrat," is also a typical "son of
the manse." Interest, Inter-Faculty
curling, music, and Shakespeare. "A
good man." - Tony says so. Plans to
settle down with his pipe and Shirley.
Beales, Dorothy
Winnipeg, Man.
Where shall we start with this ver­sotile
lass? Persistent scholarship win­ner
- chapel choir - active S.C.M.
member - I.S.S. chairman - Canadian
S.C.M. delegate to World Student Chris­tion
Federation meeting in Skitzerland,
Aug. 1946 - these are only the obvious
contributions she's made to United. A
glorious absentmindedness tempered
with a keen mind and sympathetic
understanding of people, gives Dorothy
the ability of translating her convic­tions
into practical terms. And we
almost forgot to mention that delight­fullaughl
!
Berg, Ernest H. Berg, Ernest ~.
Winnipeg, Man.
Sensible, genial and unassuming, this
boy can impress his point in class,
council, or group discussion. As Fourth
Y~rR~.=theSmdentCoon~,Ws
views have proved a guide to better
college unity. His scholastic endeavorus
include Honors courses in Economics.
A science man who saw the light, Ernie
completed two years' work in one aca­demic
year. He is president of the
Economics Club, and an active mem­ber
of the History Club, also generously
served toward the success of two Mac­alester
Conferences.
Borland, Jack Cameron
Winnipeg, Man.
After .Tohn Donne, he comes first.
Another great man, noted for hrs weird
theories on the international situation,
his devotion to popular science fiction,
and his reluctant admission that per­haps
Hemingway does write a better
short story than he. Ambition - to
own a tiled swimming pool, where he
can relax and sip mint juleps all day.
An Honors English student, and 1946-47
editor of "Vox."
Brodsky, Polly
Winnipeg, Man.
Underneath her calm assuredness of
manner is a deep appreciation of aes­thetic
qualities. She served as Presi­dent
of Theatre with distinction, and
is an active member of the Current
Affairs and History Clubs. Her friend­liness
is a dominant trait - opens her
heart and home to friends. Her future
may lie in sunny California.
Carey, Marylyn
Pine Falls, Man.
That delightful little blonde with all
the vivacity. A star in comedy parts
in U.C.'s plays for several years. This
year she played an eminently success­ful
dramatic role in the Drama Festival.
Full of color and gaiety, Marylyn is a
member of Alpha Delta Pi Sorority. •
MacKay, Jean
Transcona. Man.
Jean's reliable executive work in Co­ed
activities in her junior years cul­minated
in the position of Lady Stick.
Besides doing a pleasantly efficient job
in that capacity, she finds time to teach
music, sing in a choir, and just talk to
people. She says her ambition is to
teach, but we are dubious - so is some­one
else.
Bell, Thomas
Winnipeg, Man.
A Winnipeg product, who, after serv­ing
a ten-year stretch in the teaching
profession, helped win the war with
the R.C.A.F. A blend of gravity and
quiet humor characterize Mr. Bell's to­the-
point remarks. School teaching in
Manitoba will benefit by his return.
Bjornson, Eric
Lundar, Man.
First impression serious and aca-demic.
He is serious but has been dis­covered
chuckling over "Don .Tuan,"
He is an excellent scholar but also a
curler of no mean skill. Eric was a
teacher before joining the R.C.A.F. In
a few years look for his name on the
staff of Inspectors.
Bott, Jack
Port Arthur, Ont.
He was the bane of Dr. Cragg in
Third Year but has reformed and is
intensely interested in Psychology in
which he wants to do post-graduate
work. Member of the History Club.
Has a serious side but no, on manages
more easily to make the most of a
good time.
Browning, George Fred
winnipeg, Man.
One of the better known dramatists
of our college. Last year took a major
part in United's prize winning produc­tion
in the Drama Festival. Also in
hope hts pleasing manner will carry
"The Male Animal" -Iast year. Let's
him through Law with flying colors.
Carruthers, Marg
Arden, Man.
Marg is one of those gay people with
a giggle as contagious as a Maths.
period yawn. She never seeks the spot­light
but has done effective work on
debating executive and in S.C.M. while
at college. Her skill in drama and
music has contributed to many a
Sturrt Night and should serve her well
in work with youth groups in the
church. You see, she's destined to be
the first lady of a manse.
Coghlin, William Murray
Winnipeg, Man.
One of our more personable young
males. Interests not limited to scholas­tics
alone - an enthusiastic golfer, no
slouch at bowling, and always quite
happy listening to popular music. In
more serious fields hopes to make a
name for himself in Law. With his
talent and sincerity this shouldn't be
too difficult.
Edwards, Joyce
Roblin, Man.
Joyce Edwards received all her early
education at Roblin. At college her
first two years centered around Spar­ling
Hall. Joyce's diminutive size is
in no way indicative of her scholas­tic
achievements, her personality, or
her interests. She has participated in
bowling, skating, curling and the Rifle
Club, and has become known for her
pleasant disposition.
Freeman, Lois
Winnipeg, Man.
Lois has led a very busy life at the
College. She has participated in most
of the athletic activities - starring on
the volleyball and basketball teams
plus seizing the University ping pong
championship. During the past two
years the U.M.s.U. has benefited from
her wisdom and ability. "Pee Wee" is
a very staunch member of the S.C.M.
This year she is President .of that
organization. She has combined the
Freeman characteristic of "brains" with
an ability to move from one place to
another at high speed. This interest­ing
combination has made Lois one of
United's best student leaders. Of her
future plans she declared. "There are
six possibilities."
Gordon, William Robert
Winnipeg,. Man.
A former Air Force navigator. Cur­rent
interest is located in Dundee,
Scotland. Activities are curling, bridge
and matinee pictures. He has a friend­ly
personality and sttmuleting ideas
about almost everything under the sun.
Is considering teaching as a profession.
Hawn, Nelson
Charleswood, Man.
A veritable superman. Astounded a
professor by handing in an extra essay.
Nelson keeps one jump ahead in every
class, puts his tnexhaustible energy in­to
the job of Debating President, curls
with the Inter-Faculty aggregation and
contributes to the edifying Common
Room discussions. Nelson is married,
and was a teacher previously.
Herbert, Beatrice
Winnipeg, Man.
An athletic record as President of
U.C. Women's Athletics, secretary to
W.A.D., participant in cheerleading,
track, Junior (Captain) and senior
Basketball - the ability to cook a duck
dinner to satisfy any Norseman's heart
- plus smiling green eyes and a quick
sense of humor make this warm­hearted
brunette a very special person.
Cuddy, Nan Rosalie
Sanford, Man.
It's nice to be natural when you're
naturally nice - Nan's specialty is
singing. She is quiet, reserved, friend­ly
and more modest than her talents
would warrant. Has taught and will
teach again - but not indefinitely if
we're .any judge. Activities - Glee
Club, Music Club, Chapel and swat­ting
up French assignments.
Forsyth, Charles H.
Winnipeg, Man.
President of the College History
Club and Current Affairs Clus, as well
as Chairman of the 1946 United Mac­alester
Conference. He is supposed to
be a minister-in-the-making, but we
think he'd do better in politics. His
unique ability to mimic anybody makes
him an invaluable asset in Tony's.
Gershman, George
Winnipeg, Man.
George's enthusiasm carries over in­to
everything from Psychology to shoe­selling,
drama to bowling. He is famed
for his jovial manner and gorgeously
colored shirts. As head' of the Drama
Committee this year, he has worked
hard and suffered many a headache to
bring the bright lights just a little
closer to United.
Grant, Clifford
Winnipeg, Man.
A likeable fellow when not commun­ing
with Plato. This year his social
life is confined to week-ends out of
necessity rather than choice. Famous
last words: "Hey! Have you heard my
new theory?' Can produce a logical
argument for any.thing. His '28 Ford
called "Suzie," reflects his personality
to a T. Ambition: to take post-gradu­ate
work in philosophy.
Hemphill, Joan M.
Hamiota, Man.
One of Hamiota's leading exports.
Takes Maths. on a co-operative basis
and retails it to the infants in First
Year. Extra curricular activities include
Chapel Choir, English and Music Clubs,
eating, and sitting on cakes. A Chopin
enthusiast. OUr Joannie with the dark
black hair is a wee bit argumentative.
Headed for a pedagogical future.
Hetherington, Madge
Carman, Man.
Uncle Sigmund's star pupil; her big
blue eyes have been the bane of many
an artist's existence. She plans a career
of some description but is very vague
about the whole thing. A home and
a family are on the sine qua non
portion of this gal's list, but she won't
admit it. Carman doesn't miss her (she
says) ,
---
Hobbs, Margaret
North Kildonan, Man,
Lovely to look at and especially nice
to lmow. Has a rare gift for under­standing
people. Pet saying, "Can't
waste a minute." Work at Y.W.C.A.,
Council meetings, going home week­ends,
collecting scholarships, and time
out for fun - no wonder she can't
spare a minute' Margaret will not only
get a B.A. at United but a "Mrs." at
Yale.
Holmes, Ian
Binscarth, Man.
He's SCotch and proud of it! Perhaps
that accounts for his being Treasurer
of the S.C.M. at United. Came to the
college in his Third Year and spent his
last year in Residence where he bols­tered
Residence Badminton. Famed
for his philosophical discussions with
Grant - a deliberate thinker and reli­able
executive. A son of the manse,
his ambition is Medicine.
Ivey, Shirley
Winnipeg, Man.
Five feet three and one-half inches
of idealism and poetry. Shirley's quiet
charm has graced United's halls for
four busy years. A Scholarship winner
who has taken an active part in the
English Club, Community services
Work, S.C.M.. and "Vox:' The sparkle
in her eye is reflected on the third
finger of her left hand.
Kay, Harold C.
Winnipeg, Man.
Harold is interested in music and
looks forward to a business career.
Really, he can be summed up in three
words - Polly - Pipe - Ping 'Pong.
Langtry, Rae
Homewood, Man.
Sixty-three inches of sunshine! En­thusiastic
participant in Sparling's ten
o'clock ''Bring Your Butter" Club. Won
jitterbug contest and helped United
take curling title in '46. Entered in
activities as Vice-President of Fourth
Year with zest and a spirit of sincere
interest. Considering a part interest in
''Carman Creamery:' Will soon swap
French texts for reliable cook books.
Marcus, Robert John
Point du Bois, Man.
Bob, one of many new members
here, taught on year and decided that
new ideas and young blood are urgent­ly
needed in the educational field.
Comes from a town where they ski
and swim before they walk. Good in
sports - hockey, curling, skiing and
anything outdoors. He is deeply in­terested
in psychology.
Hodgson, Mae
Myrtle, Man.
seems quiet in class, actually full of
fun, friendly and helpful, Hobbies­analyzing
people and playing the piano.
'Makes frequent trips to tea cup read­ers,
also very interested in Air Force
activities. Long bus rides prevent her
from getting essays and library books
in on time. Applies child psychology
to Y.W.C.A. groups. Plans to enter
Education.
Hutton, John A. H.
Prince George, B. C.
Tall, dark, suave, John is the man
headed for the diplomatic corps. His
major in History and Government
keeps him well posted in international
affairs, and his views find expression
in the History Club of which he is
President and in the Mock Parliament
where he was Minister of Foreign
Affairs. Ambition, intelligence, and
personality may one day take him
from the Mock to ottawa's Parliament
and one of those coveted positions with
External Affairs.
Jakeman, Betty
Roblin, Man.
Betty received her early schooling in
Roblin from whence she proceeded to
college using her intellectual ability in
the teaching profession. This ambition,
however, is in no way indicative of a
scholastic outlook on life. Her ready
laugh gives evidence of her love for
fun and for life in general.
Kennemore, Margaret
Winnipeg, Man.
Our merry, light-hearted Margaret
has a charming, mischievous smile
which endears her to her friends. Her
curly hair adds to the impression of
an elfin quality of spirit. She is a
member of the Alpha Gamma Delta
Sorority, and this autumn goes to To­ronto
for a course in kindergarten
work.
MacQuarrie, Heath
Victoria, P. E. I.
"The Bishop" is one of the more
distinguished figures at United College.
He is a member of some of the lead­ing
clubs - Classics, History. His ma­jestic
presence combined with his
whimsical, humorous eloquence provide
the College Parliament with a very
capable Prime Minister. Heath has
served on the staff of the Winnipeg "Y"
for some years. When questioned
about his future plans he replies,
"Social work, a return to the teach­ing
profession or maybe politics:'
Martens, Bill
Sanford, Man.
Bill has acquired the envious dis­tinction
of being the quietest member
of our class. More shy than reticent,
his unassuming but genial personality
should stand him in good stead as a
diplomat. Bill is pursuing a very sen­sible
course in the social sciences.
Mayes, Hubert G.
Oakner, Man.
Dependability, industry, and a chann­ing
smile have won for Hubert a warm
spot in the hearts of all who know
him. IDs accomplishments are many -.
Honors French student, President of
the French Club, a three year mem­ber
of the Chapel Choir, the University
Choral Group, and one of United's out­standing
curling stars. .Ambition ­teaching.
Millar, Dorene
Snowflake, Man.
Four years of fun and friendliness ­impossible
to imagine Residence with­out
her - widely known for her sense
of humor and curling skill (Inter­Faculty
Champ, '46) . Secret of her
success is a genuine interest in people.
Instigator of all Sparling pyjama par­ties.
Pastimes - taking candid shots.
telling jokes, eating, bubble baths.
Next year will find her hard at work
helping others in the pursuit of learn­ing.
Powers, Lyall
Winnipeg, Man.
Serious-minded, but with subtlety of
wit that proves baffiing to the un­initiated.
When interviewed, said his
chief ambition was to spend a week
on the Concord and Merrimac Rivers,
but we can picture him teaching
French in one of the more noted uni­versities.
An Honors French and
Honors English student, and a basket­ball
star.
Rogers, Henry
Makaroff, Man.
A happily married veteran from
northern Manitoba. studies Honors
Economics. Member of History Club,
Economics Club and Economic Adviser
to United-Macalester Conference.
Henry doesn't say much but when he
cocks his head be sure to be listening.
Wants to become Minister of Finance
at Ottawa.
Sim, George
Winnipeg, Man.
R.C.A.F. veteran. Diligent student
of History and Economics. Has re­markable
sense of humor. Believes in
being an individual. Favorite phrase
as regards course, women and life:
"What difference does it make."
Sivertson, Gloria
Winnipeg. Man.
Besides a full Arts course and a busy
time in S.C.M. groups Gloria finds time
to sing in U.C. choir and take honors in
music. A gifted pianist, a cheery per­sonality,
and a ready smile will help
this lassie go far in her chosen fields-«
Music and Education.
Mielke, Frances S.
Portage la Prairie, Man.
Languages are her specialty. She has
been known to "parler francais" and
even takes eight units of the stuff. Also
knows a few dialect stories worth hear­ing.
Outside of her course Frances is
devoted to music, golf and the Portage
Terriern. Resides in Sparling and is
President of the House Committee
thereof. Journalistic ambitions.
Pomeroy, Kenneth W. J.
Gilbert Plains. Man.
Ken is a student who takes life seri­ously.
He is preparing to return to the
teaching field. Likes children, books.
and rural life. His interest in Christian
missions and linguistics are shown by
his activity in the I.V.C.F. and the
French Club. Entertains an ambition
to become a foreign missionary.
Rivers, Gordon
Decker, Man.
A future theologian who does every­thing
from playing hockey to discours­ing
on the Holy Trinity. A confirmed
Residence man, he wears a cheerful
front despite weighty matters on his
mind. Gord has been a valuable and
willing worker on almost all United
committees, and deserves whatever
poor laurels we have to offer.
Shortreed, Thomas
Winnipeg, Man.
One of United's "old standbys" is
versatile Tommy Shortreed. Always
keenly interested in student activities
he has served as Social Convener on
the Student Council, aided in taking a
first for United at Varsity Varieties,
composed the current College theme­song,
and turned in many a fine per­fo~
ce with the Inter-Faculty curlers.
AmbitIOn-Social service.
Simpson, Jean
Winnipeg, Man.
The girl with the brown eyes and
ready smile. Jean is charming and
sincere, with a large measure of good
sense. Amlbition-to marry a future
professor of French.
Skaling, Miriam
Winnipeg, Man.
Miriam's executive ability and de­pendable
nature have made her U.C.
Social Convener, a capacity in which
she serves with charm, The perfect
hostess, tactful, yet with a gift for
sparkling repartee. A disarming grav­ity
of expression belies whimsical
humour within. Interests: volleyball,
Alpha Gamma Delta, social service, and
the diamond on the left hand.
Smith, Isabelle
Winnipeg, Man.
Isabelle is one of those people who
has a full-time career as visiting teacher
for Winnipeg School Board and goes to
United classes on the side. She is
interested in people and is popular
among girls' groups. Her efficiency,
her depth of understanding and warm,
vibrant personality should take her far
in her chosen career in Social Work,
Blondal, Pat B1ondal, Pat
Pat is perhaps one of the busiest
members of our class-she divides her
time between studying' and housekeep­ing.
Her ambition has already been
fulfilled-she's married! Sorry boys!
Stewart, Iris
Plumas, Man.
Charming, pleasant, energetic and
sincere. Sparling's own Psychologist
who can find humor in any situation.
Her varied experiences in the teaching
field and the Air Force insure her suc­cess
as a Social Worker. Extra curricu­lar
activities-helping Sparlingites to
get their marks.
Templin, Clare 'j'ernplin, Clare
Winnipeg, Man.
Clare may know the tricks of "pro­paganda"
but needs none to put over
her personality. Spends her summers
at Lake Louise having a "royal time"
even though not hobnobbing with the
aristocrats. T()()k time off as U.C. repre­sentative
at W.S.C.F. Conference in
Edmonton. May enter business world.
Note to Profs.-if any notes are lost,
Clare has short hand duplicates.
Warkentin, Helen
Beausejour, Man.
A brunette from Beausejour, Helen is
majoring in French. Past president of
Debating and skip of the faculty Curl­ing
Team, she satisfies her aesthetic
ambitions in the Light Opera Society
and the Chapel Choir. Poise and per­sonality
personifled, an habituee of
Tony's and formerly of Sparling Hall.
Secretarial aspirations.
Woeller, David John
Kitchener, Ont.
The Thin Man plays bridge, smokes a
pipe and spends most of his time in
Tony's discussing the relative merits,
prices and rooms of the Royal Alex and
the Fort Garry. "As President of the
social committee," he says, "I ought to
know these things." He spent a hectic
few months as Editor of the U.M.S.U.
Handbook and Telephone Directory.
Long, lean and disgustingly cheerful.
Smith, Joan Margaret
Regina, Sask.
Regina College's gift to United. Found
the strain of taking Economics and
French simultaneously too great so fled
to Government. A musical lowbrow
addicted to Gershwin and Levant. Ap­preciates
subtle and obvious humour as
found in James Thurber, Hearthrug and
H. Allen Smith (no relation). Claims
she has an ambition but won't reveal it.
Stapley, Percy
Winnipeg, Man.
A past president of Athletics who has
been an active participant in all sports
during his four years at United. Cheer­ful
off-hand manner, a merry twinkling
eye, yet capable of a contemplative
seriousness when the occasion demands.
A specialist in Maths., Perc's knowledge
of figures is beyond dispute.
Swystun, Nestor
Winnipeg, Man.
Nicknamed "Personality" Swystun by
"The Manitoban." Athletics is his
middle name-c-football, basketball and
soccer. An expansive personality and
a sincere friendliness. As a wit he cribs
from "1001 Jokes" and the movies.
Wareham, Alfreda
Rivers, Man.
Even after four years in Residence,
Freda retains a sunny disposition and
a f,(ood appetite! Her enthusiasm for
badminton, curling, dancing, tennis and
a Y.W.C.A. group can be turned to con­scientious
study. Havina no early morn­ing
classes she is envied by all Sparling­ites.
Dislikes getting up, noon-hour
classes and meatballs. Desires a place
in Social Work or T.C.A.
Wemyss, Jean Margaret
Neepawa, Man.
When Peggy was a little f,(irl, her
mother inadvertently drooped her onto
a volumne of Robinson Jeffers on the
ffoor, She has been writing poetry ever
since. Seriously, she plans' a career in
journalism; .arter which, successful or
otherwise, she will settle down, marry
a man with at least one million dollars
and raise an average Canadian family.
Zivot, Bernice
Winnipeg, Man.
We are glad to have our jolly Bernice
back at United College this year (she
had been sojourning at Fort Garry).
Bernice, an extrovert at heart, bubbles
over with the joy of living. As her
ambition is Social Service, she is plan­ning
to go east to take a course in it
this fall.
Freeman, John P.
Arts grad. from United 1944. Faith­fully
carries an axe and grindstone to
;ill classes. The only member of his
year to take all class notes pictographic­ally,
but gets top marks by studying
Meadows' notes. Favorite sports-seat­ing,
and visiting his girl friend, in that
order.
Horsburgh, Russell D.
Brave is the man who will come West
after six years of college to study at
United! But Russ stands up bravely
under all Meadows' unkind! remarks
about Toronto (ugh!). A quiet chap in
classes but he doesn't miss much. The
future is uncertain, but we hope he'll
feel at home in the West.
Johnston, Gilbert C.
Arts grad. from United 1941. After
service in the R.C.A.F. returned to
Theology to follow in the steps of
Isaiah. Those who have been transfixed
hy the prophetic gleam in his eye do
not soon forget the experience. No cult
prophet, he has a brain and likes to use
it. A wife and two sons follow in his
train.
Patterson, Jack E.
Arts grad. from Victoria 1944. .Tack's
solution to his home-town (Windsor,
Ont.) problems is the S.C.M. summer
work camp, and after his signal SUCCe6S
with onions and "Ersky" we think he
must be riglht. His solution to the class
notes problem is unique: simply hand
the pen and book to the wife!
Tindale, Glen W.
Glen took his Arts at United with
the class of '44. Distinguished through
college by his ambition to know every
student by name, and incidentally he
does pretty well at this. The conscience
of the class for promptness at lecture'>
and for note-taking, till he started
phoning a certain doctor's office be­tween
classes. A tireless worker, Glen
will go far.
Gibson, Howard B.
An institution around United. In­terests
vary from ping pong to Indian
Missions. At present he is serving the
Kelwood field with his student-wife
Mary, who incidentally left the King's
service for Howard's. He hasn't made
up his mind yet as to the place of lec­tures
in one's education, but has de­finitely
ruled out 8 :4O's.
Johnston, Ernest P.
All seven years at United, and all
marked with top honors and scholar­ships.
One even marked by getting
married. Ernie's methodical and effi­cient
approach to life seems to get
things done without ever mussing a
hair of his head. But his complete de­pendability
breaks down in one area ­whenever
that little grin forms look
outl A keen and fearless wit that al­ways
puts a prof. off his subject!
Meadows, Harry A.
Arts grad. from United 1940. Spent
four years in northern Manitoba in
Indian Missions, where he lost part of
his scalp. Not exactly belligerent, but
willing to argue with anybody in par­ticular.
When he has finished reform­ing
rural Manitoba will likely take on
Alberta. He has a wife and two children
to cheer his declining years.
Roberts, Theodore E. C.
Arts grad. from United 1944. Horne
town is Fort William, Ontario. Thea's
melodious voice sounds much better in
the Chapel Choir and Quartette, where
he has sung every year, than it does at
6 a.m. in Residence. When he is ordain­ed
he plans to marry into the nursing
profession and settle with his wife in
a rural pastorate.
UNITED COLLEGE
.3t.~Pbm1
IN THE CENTRE OF
WINNIPEG
22
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SMITH STREET, Just South of Portage Ave.
A · d:tssisting the Editor and his associates in
the preparation of the College annual is one
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SELLER'S MARKET
b'l EDWARD J. FINCH
Every so often I have some painful re­flection
upon a subject which I would
rather forget . . . my shopping sprees.
Although my financial position is nor­mally
precarious, a trip downtown has one
invariable result . . . an increase in my
possessions. These already overcrowd our
small home and threaten to dispossess my
wife and myself. Yet such is my weak­ness
that even with this evil destiny over­shadowing
I persist in buying almost
everything which catches my fancy.
In this I am not alone. Today, when
I went to a big department store deter­mined
for once to be an observer only,
I saw others just as foolish as myself. In
particular I watched a yourig man who
was wandering around in the Sporting
Goods section. Apparently interested in
canoes, he tested the weight of one, looked
at its seams and, in general, appeared to
be satisfied with all that he saw. Still, he
showed no sign of buying. Then, just
as the young fellow was moving off, a
smartly dressed salesman suddenly appear­ed.
Surprised by this djinn-like appear­ance,
the young man wilted noticeably.
"How much is the canoe?" he asked ...
a weak question.
The salesman told him and added, "Oh,
a fine canoe, sir, a good choice: .Ideal for
rough water and light on the portage. . ."
I watched the struggle as it was depicted
on the young man's face. Then I averted
my gaze . . . It had become obvious that
there could be only one conclusion. I heard
the youngster's voice saying uncertainly,
"It is a good canoe, all right ... I guess
I'd better take it."
I was puzzled. This whole procedure
23
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What is Winnipeg Electric Company
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is being spent on extensions and modern­ization
of Greater Winnipeg's Transporta­tion
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MORE THAN $3,000,000
$2,250,000 for more Trolley and
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$500,000 for three Sub-stations to
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$250,000 for Overhead Wires,
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Compliments of . . .
7;he
CHOCOLATE
SHOP
24
seemed innocent enough. "Did I act like
that young fellow?" I wondered. "No sales
resistance?"
I watched the young man leaving, ap­parently
quite happy. He was taking the
long way out of the store. Most unwise
of him, I thought.
I suddenly became aware of a penetrat­ing
scrutiny. Better move on, I decided.
(Today I was only an observer.) A thought
struck me: "But you need a tie-pin!" This
was true enough . . . Lately my tie had
taken to flitting about the outside of my
jacket, and this, I was determined, must
be stopped.
I was not sure just where to go to buy
a tie-pin. However, on my locating Gent's
Ties and inquiring about the matter, a
pleasant young thing gave me directions.
Once in the right section I found no diffi­culty
in buying what I wanted.
Then, alas, after this small purchase,
began once more that roaming about, that
dangerous pastime which causes even my
good-natured wife to frown. (Observation,
of course, was now a thing of the past.)
My wandering footsteps carried me to
the Shoe Department. Nerves tingling, I
stood before an exciting display. . . every­thing
from golfer's spikes to dancing
pumps. But the boots in the centre . . .
those enormous, high-topped prospector's
boots. All the glamor of youthful dreams
returned as I stared in admiration-"Gold
rushes . . . California . . . the Yukon . . .
the Transvaal " I dreamed on. "You're
rich, famous "
The ubiquitous salesman shattered my
reverie, "Can I help you, sir?"
Secretly wishing that he would remove
himself, I admitted that I would like to
tryon a pair of high-tops.
His eyes lit up. (Why not? At $29.50
a pair; boots, I mean.) "Wonderful boots,
sir," he exclaimed. "Useful anywhere­in
the bush, out hunting or hiking; in fact
anywhere at all sir. We have them in all
sizes and all widths," he added, with a
happy smile.
"Nine EE," I replied morosely. My main
come from
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escape route was endangered by his last
words. "First thing you know you'll be
buying these boots," I muttered to myself.
From past experience I knew that I would
be too proud to admit that I really couldn't
afford them, and I'd already shown that
I wanted them. I was trapped all right.
"Why do you have to do these things?" I
asked myself, desperately. However, I did
my best to look as if I knew what I was
doing.
I soon had the boots on and as they were
Nine EE they fitted beautifully. I fell to
dreaming again as I looked at my reflection
in the big mirror that the salesman had
shrewdly led me to . . . What would they
say if you wore them to the office in the
morning?-"Oh, my, ... you look like a
famous explorer, Mr. Finch."-I smiled
back at my secretary. "Thank you, Alice,"
I replied . . . Alice should have a new
raise shortly.-"With those bow-Iegs?"-I
scowled at the owner of this new voice
and tried vainly to keep my knees touch­ing.
"Who hired this new office boy, any­way?"
I fumed. It was thus that I came
back to reality.
The salesman was quiet. Too quiet . . -.
I wondered what he was thinking. . . Pro­bably
he thinks you'll buy these boots for
sure if you look at yourself in this mirror
much more. He'd be right, too, I thought,
not quite sure whether to be amused or
annoyed. Five minutes later I walked
away, new boots under my armand spur­red
on by the first faint prickings of self­accusation.
Under the influence once again, I enter­ed
Sporting Goods. Suddenly aware and
aghast, I shut my eyes and strode blindly
ahead. But my ears betrayed me.
"-still scarce," a melancholy voice was
saying. My eyes fought open. A lean sales­man
was displaying three golf clubs toa
customer. Moving closer, I took a look,
thought, "They're Bobby Jones irons,
matched, registered . . . You know how
rare they are nowadays. Your vacation is
just around the corner ..." Need I say I
bought them?
Now I was going to leave. So far I
25
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thought I could explain my conduct to my
wife, but as to the future . . . who could
tell? Besides, the boots under my arm
were heavy .... "Boots? .... Have you
bought more boots today?" The full enor­mity
of my failing was suddenly brought
home to me. Where was that exit?
The Book Section was near the exit . . .
too near for my safety. Long on hope, fair
in determination, I made for the revolving
door. It was spinning too fast and too
many people were there ahead of me. A
brief wait, then. . . a dangerous wait. My
eyes focussed-a habit they have. Urn
. . . Nice book-cases in this store. My eyes
focussed, again.
"Archery!" flashed a.bright book cover.
"Archery ... Archery . " ..'"
Archery! Old thought, old friends and
places came back. Robin Hood . . . Ye
Sheriff of Nottingham '" Sherwood
Forest ...
A sinister force impelled me toward the
book-cases. "Archery is the coming sport­everyone
says so. Anyway, you've always
wanted to . . ."
I picked up the book, looked inside.
Fascinating pictures. . . Too much to read
at the book counter, though.
"How much?" I asked, despairingly.
"One, fifty," replied the saleslady, effi­ciently.
Shrugging fatalistically, I handed
over the required sum.
Once outside the store, I took stock.
"You've done it again," I accused myself.
Joy in the new possessions sank to the low
usually experienced at this moment of
exit.
Thestreet was busy. Everyone seemed
to have a car except myself, but no one
seemed to need one quite so badly as I did.
I looked indecisively at the streaming
traffic-Traffic is dangerous if one is in­decisive,
my wife says- "Good heavens!
When your wife sees all this stuff ... !"
I rushed out onto the street, narrowly
missing a car . .. "It might be better to
hit the next car ... the wife ..."
Somehow these thoughts buoyed me up
and I plunged cheerfully ahead. "Tomor-:
row will be better."
Winnipeg, Man.
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Phone 36485
493 Portage Ave., Winnipeg
320 Donald St.
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and Address
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That Are Snappy
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26
r ON LOSING THINGS
h'j EDWARD J. FINCH
I am the worst person for losing things.
This has been the considered opinion of my
wife for some time, but, until recently, I
had resisted the belief. However; the events
of the past fortnight have compelled me to
see everything, including myself, in a new
light.
It all began when the wife asked me to
get tickets for the latest celebrity concert.
These were to be bought at once before
all the good tickets were sold. I humbly
agreed, mindful of previous failures to
carry out her instructions.
There was a long queue for the tickets
when I arrived at the local music store. I
hesitated. It was plain that there would
be the choice of standing between two
housewives-probably discussing the latest
methods of preparing the baby's pablum­or
returning to tell the wife that all good
tickets had been sold. After short reflec­tion
I hastened into the line-up.
I was wrong. Today's opening topic was
the importance ot liver in the diet. I found
"out, to my alarm, that, as one who has
steadfastly refused to eat the stuff, i was
almost certainly anaemic. I decided on
the spot that this matter of eating liver
was a point that might well be' conceded
to the wife. .
A new topic came up for discussion.
This one, quite interesting, too, dealt with
Hedy Lamarr's gown in her latest movie.
However, this constant exchange of words
from two directions was disconcerting. I
suggested an exchange of position. This
offer was politely but firmly refused. I
sighed . . . If Martha only knew the cost
of obtaining these tickets.
When my turn finally came I picked out
two seats in accordance with my wife's in­structions.
I reached for my wallet . . .
"Say, where was that wallet, anyway?" I
fumbled in every pocket for the second
time ...
For some reason silence had fallen over
those nearby. No longer were there merry
jokes or chatterings about the way little
Johnny was growing out of his clothes.
Ah, no . . . Now they were storing up the
tale of my misfortune; I would be the sub­ject
of numerous dinner anecdotes.
The clerk, too, was beginning to notice
the delay. His fingers were beating out a
slow tattoo on the top of the desk. "If you
could just wait over here, at the side," he
suggested, in a hoarse whisper. Looks of
satisfaction, exchanged far back in the
queue, testified to the carrying powers of
his voice.
I nodded. "Hang onto these tickets for
me, will you?" I asked, in a voice equally
hoarse. "I'll go phone up my wife."
He gave me a look that betrayed his com­plete
lack of faith in humanity. "For one
hour, then," he replied. It was plain
-
27
CONTACT LENSES
then, too, that until he met me he had
never realized the magnitude of a woman's
sacrifice.
M~ shaking fingers dialed the correct
number on the second attempt. Martha
answered the telephone with the obvious
assurance that it was her husband. "Your
wallet? Yes, you left it right on the top
of the bureau. . . I noticed it just a minute
ago. Did you get the tickets?"
"Yes, dear," I said. "Yes, ftear. I'll be
home right away. Goodbye, dear."
I left the store as inconspicuously as pos­sible
...
That was the first incident. It failed to
make more than a passing impression on
me, but when the next misfortune followed
almost immediately afterward, I was con­vinced
of my failing.
This time I lost Martha's glasses. It
began at the theatre. She had given me
her glasses just before we left the house, .
as I remember it, and there was really
no reason why I should have arrived at the
theatre without them. As usual, I felt
through all my pockets. Meanwhile,
Martha was standing nearby, her hand
outstretched for the glasses. A cold gust
blew down my back. . . Where. . . Where
were they?
"Well," my wife commented, "am I to
assume that you have lost them?" She
was amused at her own wit, but my smile
was weak. When the truth became known
she swept toward the exit. I followed un­happily.
At home, the situation deteriorated.
After an unsuccessful search of the house, '
I was put to drying the evening dishes.
After two days of such life, and the
further loss of two nights of sleep, I finally
found the glasses in the pocket of my odd
jacket. Only then did I remember chang­ing
jackets just before going out on the
theatre night. After two days, this, I
thought.
Martha accepted my mumbled explana­tions
and I was back in her good graces
once again. Unfortunately, by this time
I was in a state of collapse, entirely con-
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28
vinced of my own impossibility . . .
"You could divorce me," I suggested.
"You'd have ample grounds ..."
She was enigmatic. "You're the one who
loses things around here; I have no inten­tion
of losing you."
Hearing this, I replased into doubtful sil­ence
... Then I felt much better. At least
I was not going to lose her. I walked up
behind her chair and kissed her. . .
"Go lose yourself," she admonished,
blushing prettily, and kissing me back.
But I declined. I was getting too good
at such things.
*
SUNDAY NIGHT
(Continued from page 12)
membered it was a woman's ring and that
the boy's finger had swelled inside it as
the boy grew up, until now it was too
tight to come off.
After a little while he laid the hand
gently down. Then he stood up, took a
cigarette from his pocket, and, after light­ing
it, went out into the cold night air...
* * *
The musicians at the intersection a block
away were doing a bit better.
A car had parked across the street, the
young couple in it holding hands as they
listened,and an old man had stopped to
join in the last hymn.
With new spirit the band struck up an
anthem...
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DAWN ON THE TRAIN
b'J EDWARD J. FINCH
I
I
The train ground to a stop at the little
town and the man who had been sitting
across from me arose from his seat and
left, for he was going home for the long
weekend. The night air drifted in, stirring
me to walk along the aisle to the open door­way,
where I stood, breathing pleasurably,
I returned to my seat as the train drew
away from the station. My watch read
4.15a.m. Then the conductor went through
the coach once again, this time turning
out the blue lights which had shone down
during the trip. The coach was dim, now,
and restful.
Outside, the northern sky was grey; in
the east, however, there was a suggestion
of light. This lightening of the shadows
was gradually confirmed. Dawn had come.
Pensive, I sat watching the revealing of
a familiar, yet unknown scene ... For the
dawn sky, like a lover, ever discloses fresh
beauties.
More light came, and presently the nor­thern
sky was visible. There dawn's pat­tern
was being woven. Low on the north­eastern
horizon bulged towering cumulus,
immobile in dark silhouette. Above, from
east to west, stretched a narrow band of
clear sky, threatened by the northward
movement of cirro-stratus and alto-stratus
clouds, forerunners of a warm front and
indicating the likelihood of rain. It seem­ed
doubtful, then, that the morning's sun
would shine to disperse the tenuous mists.
The train stopped again. As we pulled
away from the hamlet early raindrops
spattered against the south windows of the
coach. Dismayed, I looked out the other
side of the train. The band of sky was
reassuringly green-blue. Knowing, how­ever,
the swiftness of the white rain-heralds,
I watched anxiously, measuring
time and distance in the sky.
The ruddying heaven warned of the ap­proaching
sun. An invisible hand painted
swiftly. The sky, yellow-tinged above,
deepened in color to the pink of the barred
cirro-stratus. Further north, above rosy
fluffs of eastward-drifting low cloud, ver­milion
flamed, sword-like, across the
length of the sky. Below this sun-token,
Atlantic green sparkled from that strip of
clear sky, ever narrowing in its width,
while afar, on the earth's rim, rested the
castled darkness of the heap cloud.
Absorbed as I was in my observation of
this lavish display, yet wonder came. The
sun ... Would its arrival be anti-climactic?
Could more glory be added to those skies?
That cloud ... Would it obscure the pro­mised
sunrise? I was suddenly tensed and
troubled.
Still the tones of the sky intensified and
still the brightness increased. At any
moment now the sun's yellow rays must
reach out across the green land. I was
sure of it.
Then came a noticeable change. The
sky yielded its distinction in a blending of
colors. This was a warning, a preparation,
a trick of Nature to parade more favorably
her lieutenant, the sun. Yet, as I stared
toward the eastern gateway, a scepticism
formed within me.
But I was wrong. Came the first thin
shaft of sunlight, and slowly, surely, the
full flaming roundness of the sun. My
doubt died, half-born. Awed I was, then,
and ashamed of my disbelief, for this sun
was all that had been promised . . . and
more. Its clean golden light swept out over
the landscape, brightening the high ground,
31
casting a shimmer atop the misted hollows
and pouring radiance into our dingy coach.
This was the sun!
As I gazed in silence it seemed as if
the grasses and the trees were inclined
toward the east. Yet with that lingering
mist there could be no breeze. It seemed,
too, that the horses in the fields had turned
eastward, to stand quietly, expectantly.
A mere human ,weary, dirty, I felt anew
the strange fascination of dawn and sun­rise,
and felt, rising within me, both
humility and a disturbing vitality.
I had not gauged, conjectured, if
Whole Fairness were in cot compelled
To take her function) there immersed
Beside with most foul misconception­I
say, I had not gauged, if Form
Were so appointed to such place,
What should proceed, and how the pace
-WALTER G. FRIESON.
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(Opposite Medical Arts Bldg.)
32
GARDENIAS
Gardenias as flowers
Embody latent powers
To influence the fair.
Emphasizing beauty
As if a sacred duty,
White magic of the petals
Most certainly unsettles
The noncommittal heart.
Then the mounting passions
Shatter convent fashions
And playa vital part
In giving deep voracity
An air of pearly fantasy.
-TED JOHNS.
THE WRECK
b'1 M. WISH.
It was all over.
The milling and shouting of the crowd
gradually simmered down to a reverent
silence. Most of the spectators had dis­persed
to their homes and only the rescue
workers and a small group of passive-faced
bystanders remained at the scene of the
wreckage. A blue arc-lamp, half a block
away, vaguely lighted the tragic scene.
Mike knew it was all over. A heavy
blanket of weariness, as though he hadn't
slept for several days, crept over his whole
body. A dream-like weariness; heavy and
yet comfortable.
Mike filled his eyes with the scene. His
eyes were alive but his mind seemed too
dull to comprehend. He wasn't seeing
enough. Here was a thing he would want
to remember so he could tell the world
about it later; but the dull tiredness seem­ed
to cut the sharpness out of the picture.
His brain told him that this was a terrible
and important event in his young life, but
his eyes and senses did not understand;
it was just ordinary. Half an hour before,
he'd been listening to the laughter and gay
chatter of a group of fellow students re­turning
from a basketball game-s-and now,
everything was dead, everything unreal.
Only the dark mob remained,gazing mute­lyat
the twisted steel which had once been
a train. In the vague lamp-light their faces
were hard and cruel.
Impulsively he jerked his cap down over
his eyes-the light blue eyes of youth, and
moved away. Before leaving, he turned
and took one last look, then plunged down
the street.
It was a wide, deserted street-as unreal
and empty as the thoughts which were
madly rushing through his mind. The un­reality
of the tragedy pressed inside his
chest. As though to forget, he quickened
his pace.
Two shiny steel lines stretched glimmer­ing
away along the street and finally dis­appearing
into the night. The electric trol­ley
line, suspended above the tracks, hum­med
with power.
Mike neither noticed the track nor heard
the hum of the power line. With head
down he plodded on. The dark store win­dows
reflected his hunched, brooding fig­ure.
Loneliness fell upon him.
His whole body suddenly began to hurt.
Then he remembered-it all began to come
back to him tragically clear.
He recalled boarding the speedy subur­ban
train earHer in the evening on his re-
33
turning home from a varsity basketball
game. A noisy crowd of students were
discussing their late victory at the other
end of the coach. Someone was singing
the latest song-hit, "To Each His Own."
There was much laughter and noise.
They were now entering the city. The
air in the coach was hot and stifling-Mike
felt uncomfortable. He got up and step­ped
out of the coach. As he opened the
door of the coach, he was struck with the
noisy clatter of the train.
Before him lay the city. The street
lights, like a million tiny candles, kindled
a sad warmth in his body.
Suddenly a screech of brakes-then
oblivion.
He'd been thrown from the coach door
out into the night. He soon regained con­sciousness;
immediately he became aware
of those trapped in the wreckage. Above
the bustle and movement of the rescue
workers, could be heard the cries of an­guish
and pain of those unfortunates who
were trapped in the wreckage.
A couple of blocks ahead a burning
neon sign pointed out a parlor. Mike
hurried towards it hoping to blot out all
thoughts of his recent experience. All he
wanted was mental peace.
The bartender, washing glasses behind
the bar, eyed Mike curiously as he pushed
the door open and walked in. Save for a
drunk, fast asleep at a corner table, the
place was empty.
As Mike came up to the bar, the barman
said, "You look as though you've some­thing
on your mind, Mac!"
"Yeah, something on my mind," replied
Mike, gazing at the bartender in wonder.
"Care for a shot?"
Mike hesitated, "No-I'm kind of thirsty.
I'd rather have a beer."
The bartender filed two glasses and set
them down on the bar before him. He
also brought a shaker of salt from the far
end of the bar and set it down next to the
beer. Then he leaned back against the
mirror and scrutinized Mike's dirt-begrim­ed
clothes curiously.
34
Except for the heavy breathing of the
drunk, and the loud tick-tocking of the
clock on the wall, the barroom was silent.
Mike picked up the shaker and shook a
few grains of salt into the beer. Fascinat­ed,
he watched the tiny bubbles emitted
by the salt slowly rise through the trans­parent
beer and settle around the edge of
the glass.
"Go ahead, Mac ... drink up; don't mind
him," said the bartender, nodding towards
the drunk who was now loudly snoring.
Mike looked up at the bartender, took the
glass to his lips, and drank without pause.
He likewise drained the other glass, and a
few more followed.
As the alcohol mounted to his head the
feeling of loneliness began to give way to
depression. Sitting there at the bar, he
realized that it was no use trying to forget
-it was impossible.
"I guess I'll get along now; I feel pretty
tired," said Mike. He got up and stumbled
out of the door and out into the street, dark
and deserted as it had been previously.
Weaving drunkenly from one side of the
street to the other, he moved on down the
street. The picture of the tragedy began
to come back again.
Drunkenly he staggered down the street
until he came to a darkened doorway of a
tenement house-he stopped. Overcome
with weariness, he sat down on the steps.
Down the street, a policeman, pacing
his lonely beat, inspected the darkened
doorways of the street shops with a flash­light.
A taxi, travelling at high speed,
flashed by. Mike saw, and, didn't know.
Finally he cradled his head on his knees
and cried himself to sleep.
A train, somewhere on the far side of
the city, hooted mournfully.
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WHEN VANZETTI SPOKE
The chatter of the crowd died
When he began,
And eyes and ears turned
Upon this man,
This impassioned fish-peddler
Bartolomeo Vanzetti,
Who, standing on the right hand of
Justice,
But in her shadow,
Dared to confront her
With his bared fist,
And his wet eyes,
And his beating heart,
And his searching mind:
And everyone listened
When Vanzetti spoke:
Now modest,
Now tearful
Now filled with a yearning
That only the people
The people could see;
i!1rar Wr!
Now angry
Now burning
Now red with a fire
That only the people
The people could feel:
But everyone listened
When Vanzetti spoke:
He was not alone:
The world had seen
Other men in other times
Die thus:
Socrates of Athens,
And John Brown of Harper's Ferry,
And a certain carpenter of Bethlehem,
And many others unknown
And forgotten:
There had been eloquent speeches,
But there was never such
An eloquent silence
As this,
For everyone listened
When Vanzetti spoke.
-L.H.K.
i!;rar WrY!
Jhe editorial Stall and sa: 01 United College
widh to thank the -Advertiderd who made
thid edition pOddible
35
United College · ... A LASTING
MONUMENT TO
THE EDUCATION
OF YOUTH.
f)ur ~onstant :J{im-
The Lowest Prices • Canada.
That is not an idle boast. We do try - always - to sell books
as cheaply as can possibly be done. Long experience and sound
policies enable us to supply books to students at incredibly low
prices.
All Required Textbooks
Reference Books
College Outline Books
Bibles
Dictionaries
Loose Leaf Notebooks
General Stationery
Engineering Drawing Supplies
Dissecting Sets
Laboratory Supplies
The Students' Store - owned and operated by the
University, for the College Students of Winnipeg.
THE UNIVERSITY OF ·MANITOBA
BOOK DEPARTMENT
Three Stores:
BROADWAY BLDG.
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BANNATYNE AVE.

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vox ,u~)
Vol. XX '/ N1
0 . 3
~.~
~ A. me,/",'I' about Swe..l Copo •• •
P.,..f~lion • . . o.ed< V..
SWEET CAPORAL CIGARETTES
.•.
L vox
The undergraduate literary journal of United College
VOL. XX-No.3 WINNIPEG, MAN. DECEMBER ISSUE
Honorary Editor DR. D. E. PETERsoN
Editor-in-Chief J. C. BoRLAND
Assistant Editors PEGGY LAURENCE M. COHEN Advertising Manager CECIL BRESLAUER
CONTENTS
PAGE
EDITORIAL 2
THE ELEVENTH MAN D. L. Bennett.............................................. 3
SUNDAY NIGHT Josh Craig ,........................................ 9
VALEDICTORY ADDRESS Heath MacQuarrie 13
GRADUATE PHOTOGRAPHS ...................•......................................................................... 16
SELLER'S MARKET Edward J. Finch........................................ 23
ON LOSING THINGS : Edward J. Finch........................................ 27
DAWN ON THE TRA'IN Edward J. Finch........................................ 31
POEM Walter G. Frieson...................................... 32
GARDENIAS Ted Johns 32
THE WRECK .M. Wish 33
WHEN VANZETTI SPOKE L. H. K. L. H. K :.................. 35
EDITORIAL
When we consider the development of
events during the present post-war period
and compare them with those of the first
post-war world, it becomes increasingly
apparent that we owe a great debt to such
indispensable elements in our Canadian so­ciety
as the Canadian Manufacturers Asso­ciation,
the Canadian National Publishers
Association, and (lately) the movies and
the radio. Perhaps no nation in history has
ever been so fortunate as to, have such a
powerful body of men who have been de­voted
with such unanimity of purpose to
the Gargantuan task of extolling the su­preme
virtues of our democratic way of
life, rugged individualism and free enter­prise.
Perhaps the excessive flurry of energy
on the part of these guardians of the com­mon
weal, when correlated with the issues
of the age which stimulate it, would seem
to indicate that there is always a remark­able
period of unrest and agitation for sev­eral
years following a period of war. From
the general accounts of this disturbing
phenomenon which appear in the news­papers
and in our magazines (written by
unquestionable authorities on the subject),
we may be sure that these periods of na­tional
crisis would never occur were it
not 'for the presence of despicable foreign
agents, communists, anarchists, and other
criminal groups who disseminate their poi­sonous
doctrines amongst the untutored
working classes, inciting them to rebel
against their happy state of order and har­mony.
Who knows what disastrous effects
might be realized in our present society
were it not for the presence of other more
idealistic groups whose titanic endeavors
are devoted to the task of exposing the
flaws of revolutionary doctrines, and paint­ing
with unexcelled eloquence the glories
of our own ordered system.
Due to the unremitting efforts of good,
solid citizens, good reporters, good jour­nalists,
we know where to place the blame
2
for the wave of strikes which are tieing up
industry. Although the strikers may think
that they are perfectly legitimate in their
demands for higher wages and better
hours, they do not realize that they are the
unwitting agents of the Reds, who are
using them to carry out a Secret Plan.
This Secret Plan is really quite simple. The
economic welfare of our society depends
wholly upon good sound business. If in­dustry
were to be thrown into chaos by
striking workers, there would be no good
sound business; if we had no good business,
we would have no economic welfare, and if
we had no economic welfare, we would
have no good sound business. Things
would be in a terrible mess, which is just
what the Reds want!
The responsibility for detecting and at­tacking
any evidences of this Secret Plan
has rested with the press and the movies
and the radio long enough. As citizens of
democracy we must be prepared to assume
our share of the responsibility also. But
we must be very careful to ascertain just
What is and what is not part of the Secret
Plan, as our good solid citizens, our jour­nalists
and reporters have been so careful
to do.
As can be seen from the plan, the crux
of the whole situation liesin good business:
anything which may be said to constitute
even the most remote danger to good sound
business, has at its core a philosophy which
is alien to our way of life. We are there­fore
safe in condemning any group which
in any way whatsoever represents a threat
to good sound business.
It is -for this reason that the Canadian
Women's Housewives Association has been
justifiably condemned as communist-in­spired,
for the strongest plank in their
platform is their determination to fetter
the feet of good sound business by the
re-imposition of price-controls. Again, the
boycott of the seven-cent candy bar by the
(Continued on page 15)
THE ELEVENTH MAN
t'J D. L. BENNETT
HE awoke, sweating. Lord, but it was
hot! He lay still, trying to recall ...
something ... yes! That damned dream
again! Why did that train have to go
through so early in the morning? Every
time it crossed the bridge he could hear
the rhythmical clackity-click, clackity­click
augmented by the sounding board
of the river, and he always dreamed he
was on his way home in a sleeper, being
pulled across the Canadian prairie, only to
wake and lie sweating in his charpoy,
dozing fretfully until the clatter and babble
of the cooks preparing breakfast marked
the beginning of another day. But this
time, as he tried to compose his mind for
sleep-he kept telling himself that it had
happened so often that it shouldn't bother
him any more--a slight stir of the soggy
air carried with it the mocking wail of the
locomotive, a couple of miles down the
line toward Calcutta. He flopped over,
cursed, but after a moment rolled onto
his back and lay looking at the mosquito
net over him, listening to the heavy breath­ing
of his hut-mate.
Mike had been pretty drunk last night,
and he might as well sleep in this morning
hi. case they had to fly tonight. Mike was
a good guy, a good pilot, and good with
the crew. He thought back over yester­day
and reassured himself that Mike had
told him everything was O.K. with the air­craft,
and that the crew had got over their
bind about their quarters. He wished he'd
had time to talk to the crew himself, and
to check up on the kite, but he'd had such
a hell of a time trying to wangle that
equipment from the stores depot in Cal­cutta
that he'd been away all day yester­day.
Anyway, Mike was all right, and
he'd just go out and do a run-up and have
a dekko 'round the kite this morning be­fore
it got too hot. He hoped they'd get
a trip tonight-ops seemed to have for-gotten
that this unit existed lately-but
what the hell!-he was getting paid, work
or no work. He thought again of Mike.
Mike wanted to get his hours in as second
dickey so he could go back to England
for his own crew-maybe even back to
Canada. He wondered why Mike had got
so drunk last night. It wasn't like him.
Probably a letter from his wife-that
seemed to bother some of the boys more
than others. Thank God he had nothing
like that to worry him! He thought for
a brief moment of that letter he'd received
back in the U.K.-he'd heard she was
engaged to some lawyer now. Well, that
was all 'right, The guy had a future, any­way.
He thought idly of University, and
what it would be like, going back among
a gang of youngsters . . .
A mosquito's buzzing intruded itself on
his consciousness, and he turned his head
to watch it, silhouetted against the yellow
light beginning to show itself through the.
window. He reached up and brushed his
fingers along the net where the creature
was trying to find an opening. The buzzing
took on an angry tone, and the mosquito
redoubled it efforts, butting futilely against
the netting. He cursed it, but without
animosity, and considered taking a shower
-it was so stinking hot already. That
was one nice thing about this place-­showers.
The poor guys up in the forward
areas would probably think this a mild sort
of paradise, even with that unbelievably
filthy Hooghly river clogging the air with
its muggy smells. Mter a few moments
he decided he would take a shower,' there
weren't very many mosquitos around yet,
and he was wide awake now anyway.
He padded carefully across the com­pound
toward the shower hut. It was quite
light, now, and he could hear sounds of
activity in the Mess kitchen. Maybe he
could get a cup of tea after his shower,
3
The aircraft loomed ghost-like out of the
darkness. She was swinging ever so gently
with the current, and a faint sloshing echo­ed
from her hull as the river nudged her
with little wavelets. He stood up in the
dinghy and looked hard down the river,
his eyes probing the blackness between the
pinpricks of light that marked the flare­path.
A languid breeze whispered along
the water, and he took off his cap and let it
ruffle his hair. He was trying to hold
down the excitement building up in him,
for the crew did not know yet where they
were going and he wanted to be able to
tell them without building them up too
much. He felt good all over about what
he had heard today. The 'phone call had
sent Hank and Freddieout to find a crew
swimming eleven hundred miles away,
while he had spent the day resting, ready
for tonight. Then, hours later, had come
for the teapot. Bill looked ruminatively'
pleased about something, and the shadow
of a smile crossed his lips as he raised his
cup. He looked quickly around and saw
that the bearers were out of the room and
then, with a satisfied chuckle, he unburden­ed
himself:
"Jeez, fellows, I had the chance of a
lifetime this morning. I woke up before
the bearer came in and found two of those
dam' cows asleep on the floor in my hut.
I put on a pair of heavy boots and kicked
them out of there so hard I ..."
Laughter rocked through the Mess,
drowning the rest of the story; someone
choked on his tea, and Hawkeye's good
Aussie twang broke through with, "One
good laugh a day is all we need, I always
say!"
All at once he knew today was going
to be a good day, and was almost not sur­prised
at all when the 'phone rang with
that peculiar tone of urgency that never
failed to blanket the Mess with an expect­ant
silence. The controller, nearest the
'phone, stood up carefully and walked to­ward
it with an exaggerated air of non­chalance
while the Mess held its breath.
if Abdul was around. A cow ambled across
in front of him, and he resisted a mild im­pulse
to throw something at it; some of
the Hindu cooks might see him, and then
he might not be able to get his tea. He
stood quietly under the shower, letting the
water play over his body. It was warm,
but it felt pleasant, and he tilted his
head back and let the spray strike him
full in the face. It was like a gentle mas­sage,
and he felt much better as the sluicing
water induced energy into his lax muscles.
He rubbed himself down, wrapped the
towel around his middle, and stepped back
across the compound. Mike was still sunk
in sleep, so he slipped quickly into his
clothes and strode over to the Mess. He
spoke to Abdul, and sat down with one of
yesterday's papers. The news was all
about Europe and the South Pacific. Some­body
had said the war would be over this
year, and somebody else said it would last
at least three more years. He thought
about it for a moment and turned to the
crossword puzzle. Abdul brought in his
tea, and he worked on the crossword until
breakfast. The Statesman always had a
good crossword; you couldn't solve it in a
hurry and then have to think of something
else to do.
Nobody spoke much coming in to break­fast.
Nearly everyone was wondering
why he had bothered to get up. There
wasn't anything to do, but meals marked
the passage of time, and everyone but Mike
came in. Hank and Freddie sat at oppo­site
ends of the table, not looking at each
other. Hank had trumped Freddie's ace a
couple of evenings ago, and now they
weren't speaking. He hoped they'd get a
trip soon, maybe even before himself­captain
and navigator had to talk to one
another when they flew, and maybe that
would break the ice. He thought vaguely
about some joke he'd read about a husband
and wife who had quarrelled over bridge.
It seemed so silly, back home, but now he'd
seen it happen. Well, better let them work
it out for themselves.
Bill came in and sat down beside him,
mumbling "Morning, Skip" as he reached
4
* * *
The aircraft fitted itself around him as
he coaxed her into line with the flare­path
and completed his take-off check.
The green light came from the control
launch and he settled into his seat, feet
firm on the pedals, wheel tucked right back
into his chest. The motors engulfed him in
the message from Hank-he'd been in the
Ops-room when it came through, and he
could still hear the exultant rhythm of
the code as it boomed through the speaker
-ten men .pieked up alive, but one still
missing and Hank hadn't enough gas left
to stay to look for him. (He'd bet Hank
and Freddie were speaking now!) So now
he was heading for the eleventh man-and
he was so sure, so very sure, that he would
find that man and, so doing, justify to him­self
his own existence. He felt a momen­tary
twinge of guilt, reflecting that he flew
only when some poor devil was swimming
for his life in a shark-infested sea, and
that he had still wanted to fly: what did
that make him? . " But that was a puzzle,
and he had no time for such things now,
for the dinghy was lying alongside the
port blister, and Hawkeye had already
scrambled aboard, hauling his bag of
navigator's tricks after him.
The crew huddled over the chart table,
and he could see their eyes gleam as they
looked at the track lines-they had known
this was no milk-run, but this! ... As they
listened to his briefing, their wide grins
seemed to fill the aircraft, then they grew
seriously intent as they listened to his final
admonition.
"A Mozzie shot up their nearest fighter
strip this afternoon, so we shouldn't need
to worry about enemy kites. There's be a
Lib down there searching too-but remem­ber,
we'll have only an hour and a half
safe limit in the search area, so get some
rest on the way down and be right on your
toes when we get there. If Met's winds
are right we'll be there just at sunrise,
so we'll have breakfast half an hour before
that and be ready to pick this guy up when
he thumbs us!"
* * *
their shattering thunder, and the nose lift­ed
slowly as the prop blast spurned the
water. She bucked a little coming onto
the step, but he had expected that, and
thrilled to the taming of her as she settled
skittishly into the groove and blasted her
way down the flare-path. He became a
part of the aircraft as life came quivering
into the controls. . . a nudge on the wheel,
and he joyed in her eager surge into the
silky air. The airspeed needle teased its
way up to climbing speed, and soon she
was at cruising altitude and he throttled
the motorsback to a steady thrumm, turn­ed
back over the flare-path, and settled
on course.
He was surprised to find himself sweat- .
ing, and that his arms and legs were aching.
He slid back the top hatch to let the
cool rarefied air curl through the cockpit.
Everything was behaving nicely, so he
plugged "George" in and turned her over
to Mike while he leaned back, lit a cigar­ette,
and gazed at the stars through the
open hatch. The stars always seemed big­ger
and brighter up here, and there were
more of them-perhaps because they were
flying near the top of the layer of dust
haze which always overlay [ndia and
stretched miles out to sea. Tonight would
be a good night for Astro, and Hawkeye
would be dead-on in his landfall. He listen­ed
to the conversation of the crew over
the intercom. They knew they weren't
supposed to natter like that, but they were
discussing what they would feed the
eleventh man when they picked him up,
and he said nothing. He could feel the
excitement rising in him again, so he look­ed
searchingly at the instrument panel,
checked with Joe in the flight-engineer's
seat, and went aft to talk to Hawkeye and
to try to persuade the boys to rest. He
knew he wouldn't be able to sleep on the
way out, but maybe he'd get a bit of rest
on the way home.
Hawkeye was intent over his charts;
Bill and Alan were doing something to the
radio. They all looked up and grinned as
he stooped through the' bulkhead door.
His eyes were dazzled for a moment by the
5
bright lights over the chart table, and he
fumbled his way through to the engineer's
compartment, where the boys were ready­ing
the guns for mounting. Pat offered
him a cup of tea, and he sat down on a
bunk and chatted over tea and cigarettes.
Nobody looked in the mood for sleep, but
he told them again to rest, and went for­ward
to look over the charts. Hawkeye
was plotting an Astro fix, so he sat back
and watched the cocked-hat forming dead
on the track line. He exchanged grins
with Hawkeye and moved forward to the
cockpit, just in time to see a full moon
ooze into the sky over Burma through a
startling red haze. Soon he could see the
moon path on the water. The surface was
oily calm, and it was pretty certain that
it would be as smooth down where the
eleventh man was waiting for them. He
toyed with the idea of tearing a strip off
the guy for thumbing rides-like that
cocky little officer had done to him, back in
training command . . . seemed such a long
time ago . . . twenty-five thousand bucks
it cost to train one pilot, and after all this
time he hadn't turned in any profit on that
investment. But this guy's life was prob­ably
worth more than that to someone. He
wondered if he was married. He'd like to
see the guy's wife when she heard the good
news ...
The intercom broke through with Joe's
voice giving him the last reading on fuel
supply and consumption rate. He sent Mike
back for some sleep, and settled down to
the business of watching the panel.
* * *
They were down to one hundred feet
now, running in toward the small cluster
of islands just off the enemy coast which
marked the search area. They weren't sure
if there was enemy radar down here, but
there was no sense taking chances, and
he could see the water clearly enough in
the moonlight filtered through the gauzy
layer of cloud a few hundred feet above
them. In a way, it would have been nice
if that cloud had been thicker, in case the)
had to use it, but those Mozzie boys always
did a good job when they shot up a strip.
6
Gradually he became aware of the faint
grey of first-light, then a pinkish glow
spread out along the horizon in front of
him. He caught his breath in awe as the
sun flung its crimson net over the Siamese
hills ahead, and the underside of the cloud
caught the splash of color and deflected
it deep into the waters beneath. And there
-yes, that was it-that island heaving up
out of the sea-good old Hawkeye, right
on the nose!
The bow gunner turned around, grinning
happily behind a thumbs-up sign, then
turned forward and began scanning the
surface. The island slipped past the port
wingtip, and there, between them and the
beach marking the mainland three miles
away, lay the strip of water that had en­gulfed
a flaming aircraft yesterday. The
surface was oyster-slick-only a slight
swell-it would be a piece of cake to get
down when they spotted the little dot that
would mark the eleventh man . . . "Port
blister to skipper, Lib running in on the
port bow, high." Good for Pat-s-old eagle­eye-
he'll likely be the first one to spot
our man, too . . . his eyes darted quickly
over the water-it was so smooth, he might
spot that dot right away, without having
to fly the search pattern ... Well, maybe
that was too much to expect . . . Into the
pattern, down to fifty feet ... Nothing
this run-he must be closer to the shore­wind
is onshore, swell is running straight
in-he could have been carried ashore, it's
only a couple of miles ... But stick to the
pattern! No use flapping over this ...
Another run-nothing. Two pairs of eyes
jammed in the bow turret now-my next
whiskey ration to whoever spots him first!
Down the long leg . . . across the short
leg and back . . . and down ... no shark
fins here yet, anyway ... but nothing else
either-and forty-five minutes gone-e-only
half the time left. An hour gone-and
nothing . . . Joe, can we stick it past the
hour and a half? . . . We might do half an
hour more, Skip, but we'll use a lot of gas
taking off again if we find him. If we find
him . . . dammit, he's got to be here.
Where's that Lib? ... There! Was that a
flare?-was it? ... No, he's not circling
. . . God!-he must be here-one more
run to go on the pattern ... please God!
... Nothing. He must have made it ashore
-we're going to run along the shore-keep
the guns ready ... Beach-jungle-Lib's
over shore now too . . . We'll stay another
half hour ... There!-there he is! ... No
-a native-didn't even look at us-my
God, you'd think ... Wonder if they're
friendly-maybe they've got him-but
wouldn't they signal us? ... No-t-might be
Jap spies around-if they've got him they'll
help him into the hills . . . But couldn't
they please let us know somehow? ...
Huts-a village ... Boats-ea fishing vil­lage!
They must have him-right down
on the deck-and not one of them looked
at us-what in hell goes on here? ; .. Back
again-please signal. . . looks like a brown
flying jacket! ... No, just a dead palm
leaf. And they still didn't look at us . . .
Well, we can't risk landing to ask them
.' .. Hawkeye, we'll stop at Akyab on the
way back-have to make it by sundown,
no flare-path there-or anything else-but
it'll give us another half hour-right? ...
O.K.-he can't be ashore here-must be on
an island-but one more run down the
beach first ... Lib's gone? O.K., we'll
look at the islands . . . he must be on an
island-must be . . . no, not that one . . .
one of the bigger ones maybe . . . nothing
there ... Look, chum, why don't you wave
at us or something? ... We know you're
here somewhere-you can't hide out on
us ... Not this one either-are you having
fun, boy? Think this is hide-and-seek,
do you? I'll give you a blast-No! that
won't help! ... Please, fella ... ten min­utes
to go-another tiny one-beach-little
stream-good spot if he made it ... No.
another blank-time for one more-he
couldn't be on any of the others, anyway
-wind's, the wrong way-four more min­utes-
once more around ...
Let's have the course for Akyab, Hawk­eye
... Roger ... Take 'er, please, Mike.
Oh, hell . . . he must be ashore . . .
Natives are mostly friendly down this
way-I think ... Yeah, they thought he
was wounded and burned a bit . . . but
the sea was so smooth . . . Of course,
maybe his life-belt burned, but they heard
him calling after they all hit the water .
Lord, it's hot! Mouth tastes like .
Tea? Thanks, Pat .
Hawkeye, do you know an eight-letter
word beginning with "p" meaning a kind
of rock?
CONTEST WINNERS
The winners of the contest announced in the spring issue of Vox are:
1. Short Story, "The Eleventh Man" by D. L. Bennett.
2. Poem, "Bread Hath He" by J. M. Wemyss.
3. Essay, "Politics, Morals, and the Intellectual" by H. Mitchell.
7
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Phones 96 488 - 9 .
SUNDAY NIGHT
b'1 JOSH CRAIG
AT the corner of 31st Street and Maple
Avenue, just at the edge of the east
end business district, a small group of
uniformed musicians were huddled to­gether
under a street light, bravely play­ing
hymns into the lonesome night air.
It was bitter cold. Heavy snow had fallen
late in the afternoon and now an icy wind
was whipping clouds of it through the nar­row
canyons between the office buildings
and department stores that lined the street.
Pedestrians, this Sunday night, were
few, and those that did pass hurried with
heads down against the wind and driving
snow. Only the occasional one was suffi­ciently
interested to sacrifice the shelter
of a coat collar for a glance at the musi­cians,
and. certainly none stopped to listen,
but the little band played defiantly on,
their music sounding lonesome and a little
sad against the weird symphony of the
winter wind..
* * *
In a dark doorway, on a side street a
block west of the musicians' stand, Detec­tive
William O'Brien could just hear the
music without ever being quite able to
recognize the tune.
He had been there since just before dark,
watching the doorway of a down-at-the­heels
rooming house across the street,
while the intense cold slowly seeped
through his heavy clothes. He wanted a
cigarette desperately, but was afraid to
take a chance on one - you never knew
when the Lieutenant would drive by to
check up. O'Brien was afraid of the Lieu­tenant,
and standing there in the dismal
doorway with the cold eating into his
body he hated the Lieutenant. It was idi­otic
to make a man stand in the cold on
a night like this - the killer would not
befool enough to call at his room. The
killer might be a fool, but not so big a
fool as the Lieutenant. O'Brien cursed his
superior, cursed him for this assignment,
tor all the other assignments that had
kept him away from home at night. He
wondered if Ethel was entertaining her
boy friend this night, if the ash trays in
the apartment would hold the stubs of his
cigarettes when O'Brien got home in the
morning. O'Brien accepted the fact that
his wife was unfaithful, had accepted it
for a long time. It was a hurt that no
longer bothered him, but it made it easy
for him to hate the Lieutenant and his
job on this cold winter night.
For some strange reason O'Brien thought
of Mary. He had not thought of her in a
long time - had realized somewhere back
through the years that living without her
was eased somewhat by keeping her mem­ory
tucked away in the dark. It has been
an empty eighteen years without Mary, an
eighteen years empty with loneliness that
neither Ethel or her faithlessness could
touch. He wondered what Eddie was doing
this stormy night. Their son -his and
Mary's - was all he had left. O'Brien
sighed, his breath white where the glare
of the street light cut into his hiding place.
He did not like to think too much about
Eddie, nor did he want to let himself re­member
Mary. He pulled his collar higher
about his neck, and went back to hating
the Lieutenant. ..
* *
The half dozen customers in the little
grill on the corner south of 31st and Maple
could only hear the music of the hymn­sters
between records on the music ma-chine.
.
One of the two waitresses, a tall, thin
girl in a faded yellow and blue uniform,
set a tray of dirty dishes on the sill of the
9
short order window and stared quizzically
at the frosted street door. After a moment
she shrugged and turned away.
"Jeez, Joe" she said to the counterman,
"you sure meet all kinds! See that joker
that went out a minute ago? Comes in,
orders an egg-salad and coffee and then
beats it before he even tastes it. Jeez, Joe,
maybe he couldn't even stand the smell of
the stuff... "
* * *
The beautifully dressed young man, hug­ging
the buildings as he walked north to­wards
31st Street wished that he had eaten
the sandwich. He wore no hat and the
heavy snow was beginning to gather on his
long dark hair. The collar of his neat tan
topcoat was up, but he kept his head erect
as if trying to peer through the clouds of
wind-driven snow.
He had not eaten all day. It had taken a
lot- of nerve to go into that restaurant, he
10
told himself, and then that stinkin' cop had
had to stop just outside the window.
Not that he was afraid. Hell, they prob­ably
weren't even looking for him. Any­way
he was safe so long as he had the little
heater in his pocket. The heater was his
insurance. It had sure taken care of old
man Coultas. In a way he wished he hadn't
put the blast on the old fool. But he'd
asked for it -- imagine getting the chop
for a couple of hundred lousy bucks!
The hunger was a gnawing torture in­side
him. But just as soon as he picked up
the wad from his room he'd get out of
town. A quick job some place and he'd
head south for a holiday. Yeah, he'd take
a vacation, that's what! The idea of his
taking it easy under. a warm sun with all
the cops in the country looking for him
pleased him.
It was so easy once you know what a
lot the little equalizer could do. You just
pulled real easy on the trigger and, bam
... bam ... down they went.
He wished he could drop around and tell
the boys about it, but they'd know he was
on the lam. Anyway, he could tell them
about it when he hit town again.
He wondered what his old man would
think. Well, who the hell cared what he
thought!
If he could only get something to eat. ..
* * *
Mrs. Ethel O'Brien straightened the
cushions on the chesterfield and set a bottle
beside the two glasses on the coffee table.
She was .lonesome and she hated waiting.
She hoped George would not be late. Wait­ing
made her nervous and she always be­gan
to worry in case Bill came home early
for some reason. She had never under­stood
her husband and because of that she
was afraid of him. Not, she told herself,
that he suspects anything .:- he was too
phlegmatic, too sure of himself for that.
But you never quite know what went on
in that plodding mind of his.
It was a good thing he wasn't like that
damn son of his - the way he leered at
'=oJ
She was on the point of going to see if the
awning at the front of the store had been
raised when she remembered that Louis
had done it.
She thought it was funny she hadn't wept
more. She had tried, but the tears wouldn't
r: come. Perhaps, she thought, perhaps later
when the time comes to go to bed alone I'll
cry more. If there were only something to
do. In a little while she would.go to .the
funeral place to meet the people who came
to see Nicholas.
But now all she could do was to sit in
her lonely room and think. ..
Detective O'Brien thought he would take
a chance on a cigarette. His man wasn't
going to show up. It had been a foolish
idea in the first place to put a man 'out to
freeze to death on a night like this. Well,
the Lieutenant could go fly a kite. He was
going to have his smoke, anyway.
* * *
* * *
* * *
hert.He was too damn smart, he was. For
some strange reason she shuddered.
Impatiently she switched on the radio ...
O'Brien shuffled his numbed feet and
tried to keep the cold from clouding his
brain. He wished the killer would show
up, wanted very much to get a chance at
the man for the thing he had done the
night before. The picture of the old man
stretched out dead on the floor of his little
shop was crystal clear in O'Brien's mind.
It would be there for the rest of his life.
He could be sure of this already, even
though the picture had been there not quite
twenty-four hours. He would never'forget
the surprised look on the old man's face, or
the dirty slipper that had dropped off as he
fell, or the ragged old brown sweater with
the two round holes where the bullets had
crashed into his old body. What was the
old guy's name? Kolatz? No, something
foreign though. Coultas, that was it. Nick
Coultas. It was not easy for the detective
to be sentimental, but. the sight of the old
man dead there in his wretched little shop
had touched him. He had had so little and
then, cruelly, he had had nothing. O'Brien
hoped that the killer would come back to
his rooming house and walk into the Lieu­tenant's
trap. Not that he held out much
hope, but you never knew....
A few blocks west, where the 31st Street
business section petered out into rows of
grocery stores, secondhand stores, and one­window
clothing shops, in a small upstairs
sitting-room, Mrs. Nicholas Coultas tried ~
to think what she must do.' -!
There must be so many things, but
Nicholas's brother Louis had said he would
look after the arrangements with the
church and the funeral man. Mrs. Green
had lent her a black dress and someone
had 'phoned Sarah, the only one of her
husband's relatives who lived out of town.
It was very quiet in the little room and ...
for the first time she became conscious of ,•.,
the wind whining outside the window.
11
He was groping in his pocket for his
cigarettes when he first saw the figure in
the dim light from the street lamp a hun­dred
feet down the alley. There had been
a half dozen others during O'Brien's long
vigil, but they had all passed by the door­way
across the street. Was there some­thing
furtive about the man's movements?
If the figure turned into the doorway he
would know. There were only two rooms
up there and the owner of the other was
out of the way. That had been arranged.
He held his breath as he waited, then let
it out in a sigh as light showed at the door
across the street,and the figure stood out
dimly against it for a moment before the
door closed.
The detective left his hiding place and
quickly crossed the street. The cold had
done more to his muscles than he had rea­lized
and he was stiff and tight as he
moved.
It was semi-dark, and strangely quiet
as he closed the door. A low power light
bulb burned dimly in a wall bracket to the
left of the stairway that faced him. A
board creaked as he crossed to' the foot of
the stairs.
Looking up he thought he could make
out the figure of the man near the top, the
pale light making him an indistinct blur
against the gloom upstairs.
"All right, up there, get 'em up high.
This is the law!" His voice was shaky and
the words sounded a little silly.
He leaned in against a closet door, press­ing
tight against the wall and trying to get
behind a distorted hall tree, the only piece
of furniture in the hall.
There was no answer.
"Come down or I shoot."
An orange tongue flicked out from the
top of the stairs and something thudded
into the wall near his shoulder.
All right, O'Brien thought, all right wise
guy. Now you're gonna get it. You're gonna
get it good.
He fired three times into the gloom
above him, eyes straining to catch some
tell-tale movement to guide him.
12
You're a brave boy, he thought. You got
old man Coultas because you had a gun
and he didn't. You like to have the odds,
don't you, wise guy? But now I got a rod,
too - this time its all even. Shoot again,
bright boy. Let me know where you are.
O'Brien saw a light switch close by and,
reaching up, plunged the hall into complete
darkness.
He heard a movement on the hall land­ing
.and fired quickly into the dark, his
wrist jumping behind his gun. There was
still no sound, but his own harsh breath­ing,
and for a second, distantly, the music
of the hymnsters from outside.
The silence was an eternity and then
suddenly it ended.
There was a faint moan from above, then
the clatter of a revolver that bounced three
times on the stairs, slid across the floor
and ended with a bang against the front
door.
Then, slowly, ridiculously slowly, the
body rolled and bounced after it, ending
finally in a grotesque heap in the dark­ness
at O'Brien's feet.
He stood unmoving for a long moment,
then switched on the light, and peered
down at the huddled body. Blood, running
down through the dark hair, was making
an ugly crimson patch on the back of the
fawn coat. O'Brien turned the body over
with his foot.
He began to feel a little sick. His gun
dropped from his limp fingers. O'Brien,
very slowly, bent down over the body.
The fawn coat ... the dark hair ...
Gently he lifted the face towards him,
unconsciously pushing a strand of hair
back from the forehead, .
There was something ugly about the
silence there in the hallway, as O'Brien
bent over the boy's body and stroked the
sleek black hair. After a while he began
to sob. He reached for the boy's hand and
tried to pull a plain gold ring from a limp
finger, a signet ring with the letters M. O.
engraved faintly on its surface.
The ring wouldn't come off and he reo.
(Continued on page 29)
VALEDICTORY ADDRESS
b'1 HEATH MACQUARRIE
Mr. Chairman, distinguished guests,
members of the faculty, fellow students,
ladies and gentlemen:
My first word must be one of gratitude
to my class-mates for the privilege
and honor which they have bestowed upon
me. It is a rare privilege for any man to
have the last word these days, and for me
appreciate indeed. And yet it seems unde­to
be chosen valedictorian is something I
served, for most of my class-mates are far
more clever than I, many are more hand­some,
and, I believe, one or two are even
older.
But while I am conscious of the honor,
I am aware of the difficulty of attempting
to be a vox populi for sixty-seven very
different and very interesting people. I
can say, however, that most of my class­mates
have given me suggestions and ad­monitions
and there is an amazing unanim­ity
in these offerings. I am told to make
what remarks I please, provided I sit down
ten minutes after I have arisen. To such
a warning I take careful heed.
On occasions like this it is customary to
allow our thoughts to drift back to the
dawn of our college career, and to speak
of the growth, or at least the change which
has come in the years since.
Much has happened to us since we first
entered the musty halls and stuffy poly­angular
class-rooms of that old building on
Portage Avenue. We came for varied
reasons, none more noble than the usual
freshman have, and certainly we were as'
green and as freshie as any class. And like
others we soon dropped some of our ver­dure
and bent a wee bit in the direction of
the blase and superficial. But we never
got too far in that direction, for always
there were instructors who didn't cater to
swell-headedness. And of course in De­cember
and April, after at least a week's
energetic study, we tackled exams and
never were they such as to inflate our ego.
Time rolled its ceaseless course and we
became Juniors, the traditional, jolly
Juniors, and we were jolly, but also we
felt that there was much we didn't know;
and we wondered how we could have been
so amazingly vain of our vast learning
when freshmen. Now as staid and digni­fied
Seniors, we feel that we have attained
a true perspective. No longer are we so
sure that we have all the answers or that
we are finished products, but we do know
that we have gained much by our brief
sojourn in the realms of the great. Through­out
the years a few in our class insisted
upon . winning scholarships and thus
brought reflected glory to the rest of us,
but in the realm of scholasticism we, as
a class, could not qualify with the descrip­.
tion of Emerson, "The studious class are
their own victims, they are thin and pale,
their feet are cold, their heads are hot, the
night is without sleep and the day is a fear
of interruption-the palor, squalor, hun­ger
and egotism. If you come. near them
and see what conceits they entretain, they
are abstractionists and spend their days
and nights in dreaming some dream."
No, Mr. Emerson, this graduating class
is not of that type and I am sure that
faculty members would bear me out in dis­claiming
the description.
But our class did make a good many
firsts during our sojourn. Once we won
the debating cup, trouncing a certain
loquacious section of the college in the
process, later we even defeated two stal­warts
of the faculty. It seems a long time
ago, but actually we clowned most suc­cessfully
and won a stunt night. Some
13
distinguished literateurs had their works
published in the Manitoban. In the ath­letic
field we were second to none, and it
is recorded for all time that one of our
class was champion in that struggle of give
and take-ping pong.
But I need not go on; our successes and,
alas, our shortcoming, in scholastics and
college activities are well known.
Yet if my tongue could utter the
thoughts that arise in me, I should try to
express our feelings about the things less
evident, but more felt in our four years
here. The way in which we were trans­formed
from a collection of individuals
with different interests ihto a cohesive
friendly group with common interests, yet
certainly with no loss of individuality.
How mere acquaintances ripened into real
friendship (and in some instances much
more than that) and how so very soon that
old sandstone building and life within it
meant so much to us all.
Those years, which seem nowfo have
passed so quickly, were rich and meaning­ful
years, which we shall not soon forget.
They were years o! friendships. A little
pain and little toil, but much laughter. A
literary critic discussing George.Eliot once
said, "Her characters are never the same
at the end of a novel as they were at the
beginning." And so with us, no matter
how we express it, or, if we are so afraid
of being sentimental that we never express
it, life at United has changed us, and given
us something which will remain a part of
us all whatever our tomorrows have in
store.
If we feel warm and grateful for our
years at United we know that much is
owed to others, and very simply and sin­cerely
we wish to say a word of gratitude
and appreciation to a faculty who have
done so much for us. You have been help­ful,
painstaking and patient (and, oh how
patience was needed). You have opened
out new vistas to us and have helped
us in developing a standard of values, yet
have insisted that we think for ourselves.
All this and much more we might say, but
14
what we cherish most is the genuine
friendliness of our relationships through­out
the years.
Nor are we unmindful tonight of those
whose voices we no longer hear in our
lecture rooms. In the departure of several
of our professors we lost able instructors
and real friends. With their successors,
who missed the rare experience of knowing
us as verdant freshmen, we soon establish­ed
those same cordial relations which do
so much to make United College a place
of friendship.
While I could dwell my longer on our
happy past than my alloted ten minutes
would warrant, we tonight, like Janus of
old, must look forward as well as back.
Many valedictorians in the past have wax­ed
eloquent like Polonius, and loftily utter­ed
many noble precepts, adorning them
with "wise saws" and "modern instances."
But I cannot fill the Polonius role; nor
can this class, which has see a world well
nigh destroyed, and many bright ideals.
come crashing to the earth, be content. to.
look to the future through rose-colored
spectacles. '
University students are often consider­ed
as dwellers in a dream world, sheltered
from the storms and trials of real life. Of
no class is this less the case than with that
of '47. Many of our members returned
to the halls of learning after grim struggles
with the awful realities of life, and to those
whose course was not interrupted, the mag­nitude
and significance of world-shaking
events was ever pressing upon every day
and every activity..
Young people who live in a world in
which human relationships and conditions
produce a Munich, Lidice, Hiroshima, a
world which sees race hatreds and pre­judices
increasingly aggravated, surely are
not living in a world of dreamy delusions.
Too often we are accused, as university
students, of being blissfully unaware of
life's real problems and perhaps at times
we do appear to be wrapped up inour. own
campus, but on the other hand, many
students before us have been far less aware
of human problems and far less sensitive
to human ills in the so called real world
than in their college years. Why do so
many drop the ideals to which they have
been inspired by their university, and in
their place bow down before the shrine
of modern realism, practicality (and this
we hesitate to say aloud), expediency?
So far from descrying the impracticality
of a liberal education in a world like
ours, I would assert that we cannot. afford
to be without it, provided we make our
ideals live and translate our better prin­ciples
into meaningful action. And I think
that we, as ordinary young people in a
morally sick world are prepared to do our
part. And we dare not delude ourselves
into thinking we have no part. It is not
so long ago that universities were peopled
by students who, having been made aware
of the flaws and weaknesses of many in­stitutions
and ideals boasted that they were
free from dogma and indoctrination, every­thing
was relative and carefree, indiffer­ence
and cynicism were the order of the
day. We have seen that such attitudes are
highly dangerous. There are moral prob­lems,
and basic issues which require a
positive stand, and without some basic
beliefs we start at no beginning and work
to no conclusion.
Just a few months ago we celebrated
our 75th· anniversary and paused to honor
the founders of Manitoba and Wesley Col­leges,
the bulwark of our splendid univer­sity.
These men builded better than they
knew, their creation filled a great need,
not only filled a need, but stood at the
very vanguard of educational progress in
this western part of our great country.
Now that a new college is to be built
the freshman of today will graduate, we
hope, from a new United. New in its
physical apparatus and equipment, but the
spirit and standards will be of the same .
high quality as when our colleges first
opened their doors to eager youth, three­quarters
of a century ago, and which has
remained in the United tradition to this
day.
And now, as I began, I close with a­special
word to the class of '47. Needless
to say our most heartfelt farewell is for
you.
For four happy years we have faced the
future together, and now we feel that the
hour of parting is all too near. A few
months will see us scattered far and wide
over the country and engaged in a diver­sity
of occupations. But our golden years
here will not be forgotten ,and though
separate we shall be united as Alumni of
our college and as members of the great
class of '47.
If we do meet again, we'll smile indeed.
Jf not, 'tis true, this parting was well made.
EDITORIAL
(Continued from page 2)
school children of Canada shows obvious
subversive potentialities; and, in this case,
it was all the more alarming when we con­sider
the tender age at which the process
of infiltration had begun.
What remains to be done is for the gov­ernment
to pass a law. This law must be
no ordinary law; it must provide for every
possible contingency; no stone must be left
unturned in our effort to root out the com­munist
evil. We must provide against men
complaining about wages, women com­plaining
about prices, and children com­plaining
about candy bars. These things
must be made unconstitutional.
No amount of educational training, no
amount of argument and debate, no amount
of vigilant detection on the part of our
solid citizens will be half so effective
against the Red Menace as the work which
will be accomplished if we 'should pass a
law. Let us hope that there will be a
sufficient number of courageous and patri­otic
M.P.s who will see the matter' in its
true light, and who will hasten to exedite
the action as soon a possible. Then, and
only then, will we feel secure in the belief
that our democracy is truly protected from
the red hand of chaos.
15
Lee, Royden
Rivers, Man.
Ex-navigator, Senior Stick, former
and future teacher. Calm, assured,
self-possessed, with a quiet friendly
manner. Diplomatic and capable in
council. Unexpected sense of humour
beneath ministerial disguise. "The
Aristocrat" is also a typical "son of
the manse." Interest, Inter-Faculty
curling, music, and Shakespeare. "A
good man." - Tony says so. Plans to
settle down with his pipe and Shirley.
Beales, Dorothy
Winnipeg, Man.
Where shall we start with this ver­sotile
lass? Persistent scholarship win­ner
- chapel choir - active S.C.M.
member - I.S.S. chairman - Canadian
S.C.M. delegate to World Student Chris­tion
Federation meeting in Skitzerland,
Aug. 1946 - these are only the obvious
contributions she's made to United. A
glorious absentmindedness tempered
with a keen mind and sympathetic
understanding of people, gives Dorothy
the ability of translating her convic­tions
into practical terms. And we
almost forgot to mention that delight­fullaughl
!
Berg, Ernest H. Berg, Ernest ~.
Winnipeg, Man.
Sensible, genial and unassuming, this
boy can impress his point in class,
council, or group discussion. As Fourth
Y~rR~.=theSmdentCoon~,Ws
views have proved a guide to better
college unity. His scholastic endeavorus
include Honors courses in Economics.
A science man who saw the light, Ernie
completed two years' work in one aca­demic
year. He is president of the
Economics Club, and an active mem­ber
of the History Club, also generously
served toward the success of two Mac­alester
Conferences.
Borland, Jack Cameron
Winnipeg, Man.
After .Tohn Donne, he comes first.
Another great man, noted for hrs weird
theories on the international situation,
his devotion to popular science fiction,
and his reluctant admission that per­haps
Hemingway does write a better
short story than he. Ambition - to
own a tiled swimming pool, where he
can relax and sip mint juleps all day.
An Honors English student, and 1946-47
editor of "Vox."
Brodsky, Polly
Winnipeg, Man.
Underneath her calm assuredness of
manner is a deep appreciation of aes­thetic
qualities. She served as Presi­dent
of Theatre with distinction, and
is an active member of the Current
Affairs and History Clubs. Her friend­liness
is a dominant trait - opens her
heart and home to friends. Her future
may lie in sunny California.
Carey, Marylyn
Pine Falls, Man.
That delightful little blonde with all
the vivacity. A star in comedy parts
in U.C.'s plays for several years. This
year she played an eminently success­ful
dramatic role in the Drama Festival.
Full of color and gaiety, Marylyn is a
member of Alpha Delta Pi Sorority. •
MacKay, Jean
Transcona. Man.
Jean's reliable executive work in Co­ed
activities in her junior years cul­minated
in the position of Lady Stick.
Besides doing a pleasantly efficient job
in that capacity, she finds time to teach
music, sing in a choir, and just talk to
people. She says her ambition is to
teach, but we are dubious - so is some­one
else.
Bell, Thomas
Winnipeg, Man.
A Winnipeg product, who, after serv­ing
a ten-year stretch in the teaching
profession, helped win the war with
the R.C.A.F. A blend of gravity and
quiet humor characterize Mr. Bell's to­the-
point remarks. School teaching in
Manitoba will benefit by his return.
Bjornson, Eric
Lundar, Man.
First impression serious and aca-demic.
He is serious but has been dis­covered
chuckling over "Don .Tuan"
He is an excellent scholar but also a
curler of no mean skill. Eric was a
teacher before joining the R.C.A.F. In
a few years look for his name on the
staff of Inspectors.
Bott, Jack
Port Arthur, Ont.
He was the bane of Dr. Cragg in
Third Year but has reformed and is
intensely interested in Psychology in
which he wants to do post-graduate
work. Member of the History Club.
Has a serious side but no, on manages
more easily to make the most of a
good time.
Browning, George Fred
winnipeg, Man.
One of the better known dramatists
of our college. Last year took a major
part in United's prize winning produc­tion
in the Drama Festival. Also in
hope hts pleasing manner will carry
"The Male Animal" -Iast year. Let's
him through Law with flying colors.
Carruthers, Marg
Arden, Man.
Marg is one of those gay people with
a giggle as contagious as a Maths.
period yawn. She never seeks the spot­light
but has done effective work on
debating executive and in S.C.M. while
at college. Her skill in drama and
music has contributed to many a
Sturrt Night and should serve her well
in work with youth groups in the
church. You see, she's destined to be
the first lady of a manse.
Coghlin, William Murray
Winnipeg, Man.
One of our more personable young
males. Interests not limited to scholas­tics
alone - an enthusiastic golfer, no
slouch at bowling, and always quite
happy listening to popular music. In
more serious fields hopes to make a
name for himself in Law. With his
talent and sincerity this shouldn't be
too difficult.
Edwards, Joyce
Roblin, Man.
Joyce Edwards received all her early
education at Roblin. At college her
first two years centered around Spar­ling
Hall. Joyce's diminutive size is
in no way indicative of her scholas­tic
achievements, her personality, or
her interests. She has participated in
bowling, skating, curling and the Rifle
Club, and has become known for her
pleasant disposition.
Freeman, Lois
Winnipeg, Man.
Lois has led a very busy life at the
College. She has participated in most
of the athletic activities - starring on
the volleyball and basketball teams
plus seizing the University ping pong
championship. During the past two
years the U.M.s.U. has benefited from
her wisdom and ability. "Pee Wee" is
a very staunch member of the S.C.M.
This year she is President .of that
organization. She has combined the
Freeman characteristic of "brains" with
an ability to move from one place to
another at high speed. This interest­ing
combination has made Lois one of
United's best student leaders. Of her
future plans she declared. "There are
six possibilities."
Gordon, William Robert
Winnipeg,. Man.
A former Air Force navigator. Cur­rent
interest is located in Dundee,
Scotland. Activities are curling, bridge
and matinee pictures. He has a friend­ly
personality and sttmuleting ideas
about almost everything under the sun.
Is considering teaching as a profession.
Hawn, Nelson
Charleswood, Man.
A veritable superman. Astounded a
professor by handing in an extra essay.
Nelson keeps one jump ahead in every
class, puts his tnexhaustible energy in­to
the job of Debating President, curls
with the Inter-Faculty aggregation and
contributes to the edifying Common
Room discussions. Nelson is married,
and was a teacher previously.
Herbert, Beatrice
Winnipeg, Man.
An athletic record as President of
U.C. Women's Athletics, secretary to
W.A.D., participant in cheerleading,
track, Junior (Captain) and senior
Basketball - the ability to cook a duck
dinner to satisfy any Norseman's heart
- plus smiling green eyes and a quick
sense of humor make this warm­hearted
brunette a very special person.
Cuddy, Nan Rosalie
Sanford, Man.
It's nice to be natural when you're
naturally nice - Nan's specialty is
singing. She is quiet, reserved, friend­ly
and more modest than her talents
would warrant. Has taught and will
teach again - but not indefinitely if
we're .any judge. Activities - Glee
Club, Music Club, Chapel and swat­ting
up French assignments.
Forsyth, Charles H.
Winnipeg, Man.
President of the College History
Club and Current Affairs Clus, as well
as Chairman of the 1946 United Mac­alester
Conference. He is supposed to
be a minister-in-the-making, but we
think he'd do better in politics. His
unique ability to mimic anybody makes
him an invaluable asset in Tony's.
Gershman, George
Winnipeg, Man.
George's enthusiasm carries over in­to
everything from Psychology to shoe­selling,
drama to bowling. He is famed
for his jovial manner and gorgeously
colored shirts. As head' of the Drama
Committee this year, he has worked
hard and suffered many a headache to
bring the bright lights just a little
closer to United.
Grant, Clifford
Winnipeg, Man.
A likeable fellow when not commun­ing
with Plato. This year his social
life is confined to week-ends out of
necessity rather than choice. Famous
last words: "Hey! Have you heard my
new theory?' Can produce a logical
argument for any.thing. His '28 Ford
called "Suzie" reflects his personality
to a T. Ambition: to take post-gradu­ate
work in philosophy.
Hemphill, Joan M.
Hamiota, Man.
One of Hamiota's leading exports.
Takes Maths. on a co-operative basis
and retails it to the infants in First
Year. Extra curricular activities include
Chapel Choir, English and Music Clubs,
eating, and sitting on cakes. A Chopin
enthusiast. OUr Joannie with the dark
black hair is a wee bit argumentative.
Headed for a pedagogical future.
Hetherington, Madge
Carman, Man.
Uncle Sigmund's star pupil; her big
blue eyes have been the bane of many
an artist's existence. She plans a career
of some description but is very vague
about the whole thing. A home and
a family are on the sine qua non
portion of this gal's list, but she won't
admit it. Carman doesn't miss her (she
says) ,
---
Hobbs, Margaret
North Kildonan, Man,
Lovely to look at and especially nice
to lmow. Has a rare gift for under­standing
people. Pet saying, "Can't
waste a minute." Work at Y.W.C.A.,
Council meetings, going home week­ends,
collecting scholarships, and time
out for fun - no wonder she can't
spare a minute' Margaret will not only
get a B.A. at United but a "Mrs." at
Yale.
Holmes, Ian
Binscarth, Man.
He's SCotch and proud of it! Perhaps
that accounts for his being Treasurer
of the S.C.M. at United. Came to the
college in his Third Year and spent his
last year in Residence where he bols­tered
Residence Badminton. Famed
for his philosophical discussions with
Grant - a deliberate thinker and reli­able
executive. A son of the manse,
his ambition is Medicine.
Ivey, Shirley
Winnipeg, Man.
Five feet three and one-half inches
of idealism and poetry. Shirley's quiet
charm has graced United's halls for
four busy years. A Scholarship winner
who has taken an active part in the
English Club, Community services
Work, S.C.M.. and "Vox:' The sparkle
in her eye is reflected on the third
finger of her left hand.
Kay, Harold C.
Winnipeg, Man.
Harold is interested in music and
looks forward to a business career.
Really, he can be summed up in three
words - Polly - Pipe - Ping 'Pong.
Langtry, Rae
Homewood, Man.
Sixty-three inches of sunshine! En­thusiastic
participant in Sparling's ten
o'clock ''Bring Your Butter" Club. Won
jitterbug contest and helped United
take curling title in '46. Entered in
activities as Vice-President of Fourth
Year with zest and a spirit of sincere
interest. Considering a part interest in
''Carman Creamery:' Will soon swap
French texts for reliable cook books.
Marcus, Robert John
Point du Bois, Man.
Bob, one of many new members
here, taught on year and decided that
new ideas and young blood are urgent­ly
needed in the educational field.
Comes from a town where they ski
and swim before they walk. Good in
sports - hockey, curling, skiing and
anything outdoors. He is deeply in­terested
in psychology.
Hodgson, Mae
Myrtle, Man.
seems quiet in class, actually full of
fun, friendly and helpful, Hobbies­analyzing
people and playing the piano.
'Makes frequent trips to tea cup read­ers,
also very interested in Air Force
activities. Long bus rides prevent her
from getting essays and library books
in on time. Applies child psychology
to Y.W.C.A. groups. Plans to enter
Education.
Hutton, John A. H.
Prince George, B. C.
Tall, dark, suave, John is the man
headed for the diplomatic corps. His
major in History and Government
keeps him well posted in international
affairs, and his views find expression
in the History Club of which he is
President and in the Mock Parliament
where he was Minister of Foreign
Affairs. Ambition, intelligence, and
personality may one day take him
from the Mock to ottawa's Parliament
and one of those coveted positions with
External Affairs.
Jakeman, Betty
Roblin, Man.
Betty received her early schooling in
Roblin from whence she proceeded to
college using her intellectual ability in
the teaching profession. This ambition,
however, is in no way indicative of a
scholastic outlook on life. Her ready
laugh gives evidence of her love for
fun and for life in general.
Kennemore, Margaret
Winnipeg, Man.
Our merry, light-hearted Margaret
has a charming, mischievous smile
which endears her to her friends. Her
curly hair adds to the impression of
an elfin quality of spirit. She is a
member of the Alpha Gamma Delta
Sorority, and this autumn goes to To­ronto
for a course in kindergarten
work.
MacQuarrie, Heath
Victoria, P. E. I.
"The Bishop" is one of the more
distinguished figures at United College.
He is a member of some of the lead­ing
clubs - Classics, History. His ma­jestic
presence combined with his
whimsical, humorous eloquence provide
the College Parliament with a very
capable Prime Minister. Heath has
served on the staff of the Winnipeg "Y"
for some years. When questioned
about his future plans he replies,
"Social work, a return to the teach­ing
profession or maybe politics:'
Martens, Bill
Sanford, Man.
Bill has acquired the envious dis­tinction
of being the quietest member
of our class. More shy than reticent,
his unassuming but genial personality
should stand him in good stead as a
diplomat. Bill is pursuing a very sen­sible
course in the social sciences.
Mayes, Hubert G.
Oakner, Man.
Dependability, industry, and a chann­ing
smile have won for Hubert a warm
spot in the hearts of all who know
him. IDs accomplishments are many -.
Honors French student, President of
the French Club, a three year mem­ber
of the Chapel Choir, the University
Choral Group, and one of United's out­standing
curling stars. .Ambition ­teaching.
Millar, Dorene
Snowflake, Man.
Four years of fun and friendliness ­impossible
to imagine Residence with­out
her - widely known for her sense
of humor and curling skill (Inter­Faculty
Champ, '46) . Secret of her
success is a genuine interest in people.
Instigator of all Sparling pyjama par­ties.
Pastimes - taking candid shots.
telling jokes, eating, bubble baths.
Next year will find her hard at work
helping others in the pursuit of learn­ing.
Powers, Lyall
Winnipeg, Man.
Serious-minded, but with subtlety of
wit that proves baffiing to the un­initiated.
When interviewed, said his
chief ambition was to spend a week
on the Concord and Merrimac Rivers,
but we can picture him teaching
French in one of the more noted uni­versities.
An Honors French and
Honors English student, and a basket­ball
star.
Rogers, Henry
Makaroff, Man.
A happily married veteran from
northern Manitoba. studies Honors
Economics. Member of History Club,
Economics Club and Economic Adviser
to United-Macalester Conference.
Henry doesn't say much but when he
cocks his head be sure to be listening.
Wants to become Minister of Finance
at Ottawa.
Sim, George
Winnipeg, Man.
R.C.A.F. veteran. Diligent student
of History and Economics. Has re­markable
sense of humor. Believes in
being an individual. Favorite phrase
as regards course, women and life:
"What difference does it make."
Sivertson, Gloria
Winnipeg. Man.
Besides a full Arts course and a busy
time in S.C.M. groups Gloria finds time
to sing in U.C. choir and take honors in
music. A gifted pianist, a cheery per­sonality,
and a ready smile will help
this lassie go far in her chosen fields-«
Music and Education.
Mielke, Frances S.
Portage la Prairie, Man.
Languages are her specialty. She has
been known to "parler francais" and
even takes eight units of the stuff. Also
knows a few dialect stories worth hear­ing.
Outside of her course Frances is
devoted to music, golf and the Portage
Terriern. Resides in Sparling and is
President of the House Committee
thereof. Journalistic ambitions.
Pomeroy, Kenneth W. J.
Gilbert Plains. Man.
Ken is a student who takes life seri­ously.
He is preparing to return to the
teaching field. Likes children, books.
and rural life. His interest in Christian
missions and linguistics are shown by
his activity in the I.V.C.F. and the
French Club. Entertains an ambition
to become a foreign missionary.
Rivers, Gordon
Decker, Man.
A future theologian who does every­thing
from playing hockey to discours­ing
on the Holy Trinity. A confirmed
Residence man, he wears a cheerful
front despite weighty matters on his
mind. Gord has been a valuable and
willing worker on almost all United
committees, and deserves whatever
poor laurels we have to offer.
Shortreed, Thomas
Winnipeg, Man.
One of United's "old standbys" is
versatile Tommy Shortreed. Always
keenly interested in student activities
he has served as Social Convener on
the Student Council, aided in taking a
first for United at Varsity Varieties,
composed the current College theme­song,
and turned in many a fine per­fo~
ce with the Inter-Faculty curlers.
AmbitIOn-Social service.
Simpson, Jean
Winnipeg, Man.
The girl with the brown eyes and
ready smile. Jean is charming and
sincere, with a large measure of good
sense. Amlbition-to marry a future
professor of French.
Skaling, Miriam
Winnipeg, Man.
Miriam's executive ability and de­pendable
nature have made her U.C.
Social Convener, a capacity in which
she serves with charm, The perfect
hostess, tactful, yet with a gift for
sparkling repartee. A disarming grav­ity
of expression belies whimsical
humour within. Interests: volleyball,
Alpha Gamma Delta, social service, and
the diamond on the left hand.
Smith, Isabelle
Winnipeg, Man.
Isabelle is one of those people who
has a full-time career as visiting teacher
for Winnipeg School Board and goes to
United classes on the side. She is
interested in people and is popular
among girls' groups. Her efficiency,
her depth of understanding and warm,
vibrant personality should take her far
in her chosen career in Social Work,
Blondal, Pat B1ondal, Pat
Pat is perhaps one of the busiest
members of our class-she divides her
time between studying' and housekeep­ing.
Her ambition has already been
fulfilled-she's married! Sorry boys!
Stewart, Iris
Plumas, Man.
Charming, pleasant, energetic and
sincere. Sparling's own Psychologist
who can find humor in any situation.
Her varied experiences in the teaching
field and the Air Force insure her suc­cess
as a Social Worker. Extra curricu­lar
activities-helping Sparlingites to
get their marks.
Templin, Clare 'j'ernplin, Clare
Winnipeg, Man.
Clare may know the tricks of "pro­paganda"
but needs none to put over
her personality. Spends her summers
at Lake Louise having a "royal time"
even though not hobnobbing with the
aristocrats. T()()k time off as U.C. repre­sentative
at W.S.C.F. Conference in
Edmonton. May enter business world.
Note to Profs.-if any notes are lost,
Clare has short hand duplicates.
Warkentin, Helen
Beausejour, Man.
A brunette from Beausejour, Helen is
majoring in French. Past president of
Debating and skip of the faculty Curl­ing
Team, she satisfies her aesthetic
ambitions in the Light Opera Society
and the Chapel Choir. Poise and per­sonality
personifled, an habituee of
Tony's and formerly of Sparling Hall.
Secretarial aspirations.
Woeller, David John
Kitchener, Ont.
The Thin Man plays bridge, smokes a
pipe and spends most of his time in
Tony's discussing the relative merits,
prices and rooms of the Royal Alex and
the Fort Garry. "As President of the
social committee" he says, "I ought to
know these things." He spent a hectic
few months as Editor of the U.M.S.U.
Handbook and Telephone Directory.
Long, lean and disgustingly cheerful.
Smith, Joan Margaret
Regina, Sask.
Regina College's gift to United. Found
the strain of taking Economics and
French simultaneously too great so fled
to Government. A musical lowbrow
addicted to Gershwin and Levant. Ap­preciates
subtle and obvious humour as
found in James Thurber, Hearthrug and
H. Allen Smith (no relation). Claims
she has an ambition but won't reveal it.
Stapley, Percy
Winnipeg, Man.
A past president of Athletics who has
been an active participant in all sports
during his four years at United. Cheer­ful
off-hand manner, a merry twinkling
eye, yet capable of a contemplative
seriousness when the occasion demands.
A specialist in Maths., Perc's knowledge
of figures is beyond dispute.
Swystun, Nestor
Winnipeg, Man.
Nicknamed "Personality" Swystun by
"The Manitoban." Athletics is his
middle name-c-football, basketball and
soccer. An expansive personality and
a sincere friendliness. As a wit he cribs
from "1001 Jokes" and the movies.
Wareham, Alfreda
Rivers, Man.
Even after four years in Residence,
Freda retains a sunny disposition and
a f,(ood appetite! Her enthusiasm for
badminton, curling, dancing, tennis and
a Y.W.C.A. group can be turned to con­scientious
study. Havina no early morn­ing
classes she is envied by all Sparling­ites.
Dislikes getting up, noon-hour
classes and meatballs. Desires a place
in Social Work or T.C.A.
Wemyss, Jean Margaret
Neepawa, Man.
When Peggy was a little f,(irl, her
mother inadvertently drooped her onto
a volumne of Robinson Jeffers on the
ffoor, She has been writing poetry ever
since. Seriously, she plans' a career in
journalism; .arter which, successful or
otherwise, she will settle down, marry
a man with at least one million dollars
and raise an average Canadian family.
Zivot, Bernice
Winnipeg, Man.
We are glad to have our jolly Bernice
back at United College this year (she
had been sojourning at Fort Garry).
Bernice, an extrovert at heart, bubbles
over with the joy of living. As her
ambition is Social Service, she is plan­ning
to go east to take a course in it
this fall.
Freeman, John P.
Arts grad. from United 1944. Faith­fully
carries an axe and grindstone to
;ill classes. The only member of his
year to take all class notes pictographic­ally,
but gets top marks by studying
Meadows' notes. Favorite sports-seat­ing,
and visiting his girl friend, in that
order.
Horsburgh, Russell D.
Brave is the man who will come West
after six years of college to study at
United! But Russ stands up bravely
under all Meadows' unkind! remarks
about Toronto (ugh!). A quiet chap in
classes but he doesn't miss much. The
future is uncertain, but we hope he'll
feel at home in the West.
Johnston, Gilbert C.
Arts grad. from United 1941. After
service in the R.C.A.F. returned to
Theology to follow in the steps of
Isaiah. Those who have been transfixed
hy the prophetic gleam in his eye do
not soon forget the experience. No cult
prophet, he has a brain and likes to use
it. A wife and two sons follow in his
train.
Patterson, Jack E.
Arts grad. from Victoria 1944. .Tack's
solution to his home-town (Windsor,
Ont.) problems is the S.C.M. summer
work camp, and after his signal SUCCe6S
with onions and "Ersky" we think he
must be riglht. His solution to the class
notes problem is unique: simply hand
the pen and book to the wife!
Tindale, Glen W.
Glen took his Arts at United with
the class of '44. Distinguished through
college by his ambition to know every
student by name, and incidentally he
does pretty well at this. The conscience
of the class for promptness at lecture'>
and for note-taking, till he started
phoning a certain doctor's office be­tween
classes. A tireless worker, Glen
will go far.
Gibson, Howard B.
An institution around United. In­terests
vary from ping pong to Indian
Missions. At present he is serving the
Kelwood field with his student-wife
Mary, who incidentally left the King's
service for Howard's. He hasn't made
up his mind yet as to the place of lec­tures
in one's education, but has de­finitely
ruled out 8 :4O's.
Johnston, Ernest P.
All seven years at United, and all
marked with top honors and scholar­ships.
One even marked by getting
married. Ernie's methodical and effi­cient
approach to life seems to get
things done without ever mussing a
hair of his head. But his complete de­pendability
breaks down in one area ­whenever
that little grin forms look
outl A keen and fearless wit that al­ways
puts a prof. off his subject!
Meadows, Harry A.
Arts grad. from United 1940. Spent
four years in northern Manitoba in
Indian Missions, where he lost part of
his scalp. Not exactly belligerent, but
willing to argue with anybody in par­ticular.
When he has finished reform­ing
rural Manitoba will likely take on
Alberta. He has a wife and two children
to cheer his declining years.
Roberts, Theodore E. C.
Arts grad. from United 1944. Horne
town is Fort William, Ontario. Thea's
melodious voice sounds much better in
the Chapel Choir and Quartette, where
he has sung every year, than it does at
6 a.m. in Residence. When he is ordain­ed
he plans to marry into the nursing
profession and settle with his wife in
a rural pastorate.
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22
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SELLER'S MARKET
b'l EDWARD J. FINCH
Every so often I have some painful re­flection
upon a subject which I would
rather forget . . . my shopping sprees.
Although my financial position is nor­mally
precarious, a trip downtown has one
invariable result . . . an increase in my
possessions. These already overcrowd our
small home and threaten to dispossess my
wife and myself. Yet such is my weak­ness
that even with this evil destiny over­shadowing
I persist in buying almost
everything which catches my fancy.
In this I am not alone. Today, when
I went to a big department store deter­mined
for once to be an observer only,
I saw others just as foolish as myself. In
particular I watched a yourig man who
was wandering around in the Sporting
Goods section. Apparently interested in
canoes, he tested the weight of one, looked
at its seams and, in general, appeared to
be satisfied with all that he saw. Still, he
showed no sign of buying. Then, just
as the young fellow was moving off, a
smartly dressed salesman suddenly appear­ed.
Surprised by this djinn-like appear­ance,
the young man wilted noticeably.
"How much is the canoe?" he asked ...
a weak question.
The salesman told him and added, "Oh,
a fine canoe, sir, a good choice: .Ideal for
rough water and light on the portage. . ."
I watched the struggle as it was depicted
on the young man's face. Then I averted
my gaze . . . It had become obvious that
there could be only one conclusion. I heard
the youngster's voice saying uncertainly,
"It is a good canoe, all right ... I guess
I'd better take it."
I was puzzled. This whole procedure
23
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CHOCOLATE
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24
seemed innocent enough. "Did I act like
that young fellow?" I wondered. "No sales
resistance?"
I watched the young man leaving, ap­parently
quite happy. He was taking the
long way out of the store. Most unwise
of him, I thought.
I suddenly became aware of a penetrat­ing
scrutiny. Better move on, I decided.
(Today I was only an observer.) A thought
struck me: "But you need a tie-pin!" This
was true enough . . . Lately my tie had
taken to flitting about the outside of my
jacket, and this, I was determined, must
be stopped.
I was not sure just where to go to buy
a tie-pin. However, on my locating Gent's
Ties and inquiring about the matter, a
pleasant young thing gave me directions.
Once in the right section I found no diffi­culty
in buying what I wanted.
Then, alas, after this small purchase,
began once more that roaming about, that
dangerous pastime which causes even my
good-natured wife to frown. (Observation,
of course, was now a thing of the past.)
My wandering footsteps carried me to
the Shoe Department. Nerves tingling, I
stood before an exciting display. . . every­thing
from golfer's spikes to dancing
pumps. But the boots in the centre . . .
those enormous, high-topped prospector's
boots. All the glamor of youthful dreams
returned as I stared in admiration-"Gold
rushes . . . California . . . the Yukon . . .
the Transvaal " I dreamed on. "You're
rich, famous "
The ubiquitous salesman shattered my
reverie, "Can I help you, sir?"
Secretly wishing that he would remove
himself, I admitted that I would like to
tryon a pair of high-tops.
His eyes lit up. (Why not? At $29.50
a pair; boots, I mean.) "Wonderful boots,
sir" he exclaimed. "Useful anywhere­in
the bush, out hunting or hiking; in fact
anywhere at all sir. We have them in all
sizes and all widths" he added, with a
happy smile.
"Nine EE" I replied morosely. My main
come from
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escape route was endangered by his last
words. "First thing you know you'll be
buying these boots" I muttered to myself.
From past experience I knew that I would
be too proud to admit that I really couldn't
afford them, and I'd already shown that
I wanted them. I was trapped all right.
"Why do you have to do these things?" I
asked myself, desperately. However, I did
my best to look as if I knew what I was
doing.
I soon had the boots on and as they were
Nine EE they fitted beautifully. I fell to
dreaming again as I looked at my reflection
in the big mirror that the salesman had
shrewdly led me to . . . What would they
say if you wore them to the office in the
morning?-"Oh, my, ... you look like a
famous explorer, Mr. Finch."-I smiled
back at my secretary. "Thank you, Alice"
I replied . . . Alice should have a new
raise shortly.-"With those bow-Iegs?"-I
scowled at the owner of this new voice
and tried vainly to keep my knees touch­ing.
"Who hired this new office boy, any­way?"
I fumed. It was thus that I came
back to reality.
The salesman was quiet. Too quiet . . -.
I wondered what he was thinking. . . Pro­bably
he thinks you'll buy these boots for
sure if you look at yourself in this mirror
much more. He'd be right, too, I thought,
not quite sure whether to be amused or
annoyed. Five minutes later I walked
away, new boots under my armand spur­red
on by the first faint prickings of self­accusation.
Under the influence once again, I enter­ed
Sporting Goods. Suddenly aware and
aghast, I shut my eyes and strode blindly
ahead. But my ears betrayed me.
"-still scarce" a melancholy voice was
saying. My eyes fought open. A lean sales­man
was displaying three golf clubs toa
customer. Moving closer, I took a look,
thought, "They're Bobby Jones irons,
matched, registered . . . You know how
rare they are nowadays. Your vacation is
just around the corner ..." Need I say I
bought them?
Now I was going to leave. So far I
25
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thought I could explain my conduct to my
wife, but as to the future . . . who could
tell? Besides, the boots under my arm
were heavy .... "Boots? .... Have you
bought more boots today?" The full enor­mity
of my failing was suddenly brought
home to me. Where was that exit?
The Book Section was near the exit . . .
too near for my safety. Long on hope, fair
in determination, I made for the revolving
door. It was spinning too fast and too
many people were there ahead of me. A
brief wait, then. . . a dangerous wait. My
eyes focussed-a habit they have. Urn
. . . Nice book-cases in this store. My eyes
focussed, again.
"Archery!" flashed a.bright book cover.
"Archery ... Archery . " ..'"
Archery! Old thought, old friends and
places came back. Robin Hood . . . Ye
Sheriff of Nottingham '" Sherwood
Forest ...
A sinister force impelled me toward the
book-cases. "Archery is the coming sport­everyone
says so. Anyway, you've always
wanted to . . ."
I picked up the book, looked inside.
Fascinating pictures. . . Too much to read
at the book counter, though.
"How much?" I asked, despairingly.
"One, fifty" replied the saleslady, effi­ciently.
Shrugging fatalistically, I handed
over the required sum.
Once outside the store, I took stock.
"You've done it again" I accused myself.
Joy in the new possessions sank to the low
usually experienced at this moment of
exit.
Thestreet was busy. Everyone seemed
to have a car except myself, but no one
seemed to need one quite so badly as I did.
I looked indecisively at the streaming
traffic-Traffic is dangerous if one is in­decisive,
my wife says- "Good heavens!
When your wife sees all this stuff ... !"
I rushed out onto the street, narrowly
missing a car . .. "It might be better to
hit the next car ... the wife ..."
Somehow these thoughts buoyed me up
and I plunged cheerfully ahead. "Tomor-:
row will be better."
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26
r ON LOSING THINGS
h'j EDWARD J. FINCH
I am the worst person for losing things.
This has been the considered opinion of my
wife for some time, but, until recently, I
had resisted the belief. However; the events
of the past fortnight have compelled me to
see everything, including myself, in a new
light.
It all began when the wife asked me to
get tickets for the latest celebrity concert.
These were to be bought at once before
all the good tickets were sold. I humbly
agreed, mindful of previous failures to
carry out her instructions.
There was a long queue for the tickets
when I arrived at the local music store. I
hesitated. It was plain that there would
be the choice of standing between two
housewives-probably discussing the latest
methods of preparing the baby's pablum­or
returning to tell the wife that all good
tickets had been sold. After short reflec­tion
I hastened into the line-up.
I was wrong. Today's opening topic was
the importance ot liver in the diet. I found
"out, to my alarm, that, as one who has
steadfastly refused to eat the stuff, i was
almost certainly anaemic. I decided on
the spot that this matter of eating liver
was a point that might well be' conceded
to the wife. .
A new topic came up for discussion.
This one, quite interesting, too, dealt with
Hedy Lamarr's gown in her latest movie.
However, this constant exchange of words
from two directions was disconcerting. I
suggested an exchange of position. This
offer was politely but firmly refused. I
sighed . . . If Martha only knew the cost
of obtaining these tickets.
When my turn finally came I picked out
two seats in accordance with my wife's in­structions.
I reached for my wallet . . .
"Say, where was that wallet, anyway?" I
fumbled in every pocket for the second
time ...
For some reason silence had fallen over
those nearby. No longer were there merry
jokes or chatterings about the way little
Johnny was growing out of his clothes.
Ah, no . . . Now they were storing up the
tale of my misfortune; I would be the sub­ject
of numerous dinner anecdotes.
The clerk, too, was beginning to notice
the delay. His fingers were beating out a
slow tattoo on the top of the desk. "If you
could just wait over here, at the side" he
suggested, in a hoarse whisper. Looks of
satisfaction, exchanged far back in the
queue, testified to the carrying powers of
his voice.
I nodded. "Hang onto these tickets for
me, will you?" I asked, in a voice equally
hoarse. "I'll go phone up my wife."
He gave me a look that betrayed his com­plete
lack of faith in humanity. "For one
hour, then" he replied. It was plain
-
27
CONTACT LENSES
then, too, that until he met me he had
never realized the magnitude of a woman's
sacrifice.
M~ shaking fingers dialed the correct
number on the second attempt. Martha
answered the telephone with the obvious
assurance that it was her husband. "Your
wallet? Yes, you left it right on the top
of the bureau. . . I noticed it just a minute
ago. Did you get the tickets?"
"Yes, dear" I said. "Yes, ftear. I'll be
home right away. Goodbye, dear."
I left the store as inconspicuously as pos­sible
...
That was the first incident. It failed to
make more than a passing impression on
me, but when the next misfortune followed
almost immediately afterward, I was con­vinced
of my failing.
This time I lost Martha's glasses. It
began at the theatre. She had given me
her glasses just before we left the house, .
as I remember it, and there was really
no reason why I should have arrived at the
theatre without them. As usual, I felt
through all my pockets. Meanwhile,
Martha was standing nearby, her hand
outstretched for the glasses. A cold gust
blew down my back. . . Where. . . Where
were they?
"Well" my wife commented, "am I to
assume that you have lost them?" She
was amused at her own wit, but my smile
was weak. When the truth became known
she swept toward the exit. I followed un­happily.
At home, the situation deteriorated.
After an unsuccessful search of the house, '
I was put to drying the evening dishes.
After two days of such life, and the
further loss of two nights of sleep, I finally
found the glasses in the pocket of my odd
jacket. Only then did I remember chang­ing
jackets just before going out on the
theatre night. After two days, this, I
thought.
Martha accepted my mumbled explana­tions
and I was back in her good graces
once again. Unfortunately, by this time
I was in a state of collapse, entirely con-
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vinced of my own impossibility . . .
"You could divorce me" I suggested.
"You'd have ample grounds ..."
She was enigmatic. "You're the one who
loses things around here; I have no inten­tion
of losing you."
Hearing this, I replased into doubtful sil­ence
... Then I felt much better. At least
I was not going to lose her. I walked up
behind her chair and kissed her. . .
"Go lose yourself" she admonished,
blushing prettily, and kissing me back.
But I declined. I was getting too good
at such things.
*
SUNDAY NIGHT
(Continued from page 12)
membered it was a woman's ring and that
the boy's finger had swelled inside it as
the boy grew up, until now it was too
tight to come off.
After a little while he laid the hand
gently down. Then he stood up, took a
cigarette from his pocket, and, after light­ing
it, went out into the cold night air...
* * *
The musicians at the intersection a block
away were doing a bit better.
A car had parked across the street, the
young couple in it holding hands as they
listened,and an old man had stopped to
join in the last hymn.
With new spirit the band struck up an
anthem...
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387'h Portage Avenue Winnipeg
Compliments of ...
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325 PORTAGE AYE.
and
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451 PORTAGE AVE.
Compliments of . . .
Established 1910 Phone 93248
BEN MOSS
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4 6 8 P0 RTAGEAVE J [l _j
PHONE 31202 €W:€:€IV'
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Watch Repairing
As It Should Be Done
422 Main Street
Winnipeg
29
":J3aldy" ENorthcott Sporting goods
"The House of Quality and Service"
387 PORTAGE AVENUE, opposite Boyd Building
PRINTING
!Is Our :i3usiness
Expert Craftsmanship
Dependable Service
Reasonable Prices
. ~.
Winnipeg Saturday
Post Limited
708-10 Broadway Phones 37067 - 37 068
WINNIPEG, MAN.
We offer a complete financial .
and insurance service, de­veloped
from our experience
of over sixty years in busi­ness
in Western Canada.
•
OSLER, HAMMOND&NANTON
LIMITED
WINNIPEG